


Anything for the Pack: Beginning

by Mishteeshim



Series: Anything for the pack [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Future, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Pack, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Deaton is vague, Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, Derek and Stiles Being Idiots, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Druids, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse, M/M, Magic Creatures, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Overprotective Derek, Pack Dynamics, Sassy Peter, Scott is a Good Alpha, Stiles Leaves, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Stiles-centric, Witches, not everyone is in a relationship, or better depending on how you look at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 73,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishteeshim/pseuds/Mishteeshim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Beacon Hills more inhuman than human knew about the new Hale Pack. If you were tired, they offered respite. If you were hunted, they offered shelter. If you were being followed, they hid your scent.</p><p>In Beacon Hills you were under the protection of the Pack, if you followed their rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this was going to be a 5 page blurb after the latest episode. 50 some pages and 2 fics later I decided to start posting it before I lost my mind. I got to the point where my obsession with Magic!Stiles and angst and violence and just ARRG! became so great I had to word vomit all over the computer. 
> 
> I'd love feedback but this is unbetaed, so be please be gentle. I've got grammatical errors and flaws no doubt and it takes me like 10 read throughs per paragraph before I sort of like it and even then I still go back and edit. Because I miss stuff. Like a human. 
> 
> Anyway, I have quite a bit of this written out. As you might be able to tell by my summary I started writing it in the middle of the story in a really dramatic scene (HUGE MISTAKE). So it starts out a little slow because I realized that hey, stories sort of need to have a beginning. Who knew.

Prelude:

Most supernatural beings are very much aware of how they need to adapt in order to survive in the modern world. The truth is that humans outnumber them 200 to 1 in the best of times and as history has shown (just ask the witches) an angry mob of scared humans (with pitchforks or guns) can be quite a hassle. As a result, safe havens set up all over the world allow them to have their independence without worrying about attracting media attention or people that want to dissect them to see exactly why their eyes glow and are those real wings? 

More often than not these havens ended up springing up around ancient places of magic; burial grounds, crossroads in lay lines, places with a history bloody or important. The territory surrounding the World Tree of the Druids went to the Hales, a long line of powerful Weres. The packs territory had once spanned all of California but Human politics and Hunter factions had driven them to settle for a smaller yet more central claim. Years of peace for supernatural creatures followed their settling but nothing can stay the same forever.  
The Nemeton’s awakening after a series of deaths drew the supernatural to it like a moth to a flame. A Beacon. And who was there to deal with it? A group of high school students and the broken remains of the Hale family. 

In the years that followed trouble shadowed the multifarious pack like a dark and ominous clusterfuck of tornado clouds and it wasn’t as if the human residents of Beacon Hills didn’t notice. Record numbers of inexplicable deaths, missing person’s reports, growing numbers of stories that the woods surrounding their town were cursed, not to mention the overall paranormal shit storm that seemed to rain down on them was enough to make even the most sentimental of families want to pack up and leave. With the steady exodus of humans, the Haven that was Beacon Hills opened up once again. Suburban and white picket fence families filtered out and Fae, Witches, Were’s and Vampires moved in. Among other things.

Now, years later, everyone in Beacon Hills more inhuman than human knew about the new Hale Pack. If you were tired, they offered respite. If you were hunted, they offered shelter. If you were being followed, they hid your scent.

In Beacon Hills you were under the protection of the pack, if you followed their rules.

\---

 

The day that Stiles decided to leave Beacon Hills was the same day that they truly realized that they could not keep him from jumping head first into life threatening situations. They’d always known that really, from the very first time Stiles had gone off alone into the woods without waiting for backup- their Emissary did not like to wait around after all-, but that particular day was when it hit home that no matter how dangerous, no matter how stupid or difficult, if it was for the Pack Stiles would do it. 

Most of the Pack was still at work and Jackson didn’t see the point of getting a job when he’d be leaving for England again in two months. Scott was working late at the hospital, Allison was at home with her dad, Lydia was doing some freelance research for a forensics team in San Francisco at the library, and Isaac was on closing shift at the veterinary clinic with Deaton. Boyd had been busy the past few weeks preparing for his move to an out of state college and was currently in Montana. The with exception of Erica, who had opted to spend her off day from the Day Care passed out on her couch, those of them blessed with a night off were currently lounging in the Stilinski’s living room like the bored bunch of couch potato’s they’d found themselves becoming after graduation. Derek had been given the night off Deputy duty and was reading _A Tale of Two Cities_ on the couch with Stiles practically sprawled out on top of him. He looked comfortable enough, only shifting to accommodate the teen’s twitchy movements as he tried to settle. Jackson was busy catching up on episodes of The Glades that he’d missed while overseas because his friends there just refused to watch it. Ever. 

Stiles and Peter had been debating the practical functionality of knuckle-dusters against a centaur with the seriousness of a totally plausible situation when the teens’ phone chirped out a familiar tone in his back pocket. “Hold up,” Stiles said. He cut off his conversation with Peter in favor of checking the text. Dad trumped knuckle-dusters any day. 

_February 28 8:00 PM. From: Supercop  
Got a text from Ethan. Coven is in the woods. Gear up; be there in 5. _

Stiles made a sound of excitement and lightly slapped Derek’s side with the back of his hand before he rolled off of him. “Up. Witches need an ass kicking.” The last few years meant that they were never not geared up.

“That was quick,” Jackson said as turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the table. He didn’t sound excited but at least it was better than The Glades reruns. He clambered off the chair while Peter took a moment to stretch before doing the same. Stiles had the front door locked behind them not even a minuet later. 

The coven of Witches that they had been keeping an eye on for the past two weeks was a little less than pleasant and a little more than harmless. They’d been responsible for four deaths in Ohio and fully intended to continue their murderous campaign. The Sherriff had gotten a heads up from a department in Cleveland that they were heading their way and there was an APB out for each of them. Cleveland called them a cult group but they all knew better. Now that they had finally crossed the borderline into Beacon Hills it was their problem to deal with and rightly so. Ohio just wasn’t equipped for Witches like they were. 

“How many do with think there are again?” Derek asked as they waited at the end of the driveway while he shot a text to the rest of his Pack. The question was directed at Stiles even though he didn’t look at him. 

Stiles answered recalling the file on his father’s desk that he hadn't necessarily asked to see. “Witness reports ranged from 5 to 11 but most coven’s usually leave one or two back from fighting as a reserve. So, I’m going to say a safe guess of 13 because it would be wonderfully cliché.” 

That got Derek to give a little smirk and put away his phone, finally looking at Stiles. They were standing almost shoulder to shoulder the fabric of their sleeves barely touching but it was enough for Stiles to feel the Alphas’ body heat. “Let’s hope the witness accounts are more accurate.” The last coven they’d run across a little over a year ago had only been 7 Witches and they’d had a hell of a time of it. Lots of curses and unpleasant side effects. Erica nearly lost an eye. Unlucky 13 would be a real problem.

“Let’s just _assume_ they are cliché then,” Peter said, observing the empty street with a bored sort of intensity. Leave it to Peter to be the logical ray of buzz-killing sunshine. They heard the sirens ringing up the block and the Sheriff’s jeep screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway. Stiles got to the passenger seat before the others and the wolves were forced to get in the back behind the cage. He just barely managed not to make a joke about welcoming them back to their favorite seats even though he was sure he had been in that position more than all three of them together. 

“How’s the situation?” Stiles asked as he buckled up, checking on the state his father was in. The tighter he was gripping the wheel the more dire it was. 

The Sheriff’s knuckles were a bit white and he shifted gears. “They’ve got a hostage with them. A little girl.”

Stiles frowned. The last witness reports were from a month ago and there had been no hostage at the time. How long had this kid been with these phsycos? He pressed his lips together for a moment. “Well, shit.” 

“Language,” the Sherriff said to his 19-year-old son before stepping on the gas. They were speeding along the highway in a matter of minuets. 

“Ethan’s out there now,” Derek half asked/stated, squinting out the windows like he could see the fight taking place in the woods. Jackson’s body was tenser than his Alpha’s but the three wolves were ready for a fight; itching for it almost.

“Isaac too,” John answered. “I think Ethan called Scott as well in case we need medical attention.”

“For the Witches?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow.

“For the girl,” the Sherriff deadpanned. Peter just shrugged. 

Stiles worried at his bottom lip with his teeth as he stared out the window. He wondered where the girl had come from. Was she someone they’d taken from the last town they’d been in? Back even farther? How old was she? Was her family still looking or had the cops told them to expect the worst? The worst usually meant dead. He was pulled away from those thoughts by Derek’s next question. “How many of them are there?”

“Ethan counted around 12 to 13.” The Sheriff answered, trying to shoot a subtle glance at his son and failing. “He said their scents were muddled so he’s not sure.”

Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose and made a face. 13 witches. Of course. Because he just had to tempt fate earlier and karma was a bitch. He listened to his father but he could feel Peter, even Derek, staring at the back of his head, an unspoken but predictable question on the tip of their tongues. He didn’t want to have this conversation again. Yes, he knew they were more powerful than him. Yes, he’d asked Deaton if there was any more that he could research. No, without the proper time consuming training there was no way Stiles would be on par with a Coven of 13. The best he could do was trip them up; irritate them like a mosquito or a small yappy dog. Wards, barriers, _minor_ attacks. They were different kinds of magic users, different than a Spark, so they were prepared. More prepared than Stiles. But still, Stiles was the strongest magic user that they had next to Deaton and Deaton had declared his stance of Pack business from day one. He’d help the Pack; be a teacher and a guide, but he did not fight on their behalf. Druids were all about balance and he’d been the Emissary to Derek’s mother but he was done with that now. New Pack, new fights, new balance to keep. So Stiles was it. 

“-iles.” Stiles blinked and snapped himself out of it, glancing back at Derek. He realized they’d pulled off to the side of the road and stopped.

“Stiles, stay in the car,” Derek repeated as he threw open the door. 

Peter, his father, and Jackson all spilled out of the vehicle quickly and Stiles sputtered, “What? No, wait, I can’t be in the car. How am I supposed to help if I’m in the car!?” 

Jackson’s eyes flashed bright yellow as he called over his shoulder, “Stilinski, you’re like the poster child for ass kickings.” 

There was a gasp. “Rude!” Stiles hissed back. Training with that pack in England was good for him, but Jackson was still a jerk.

One of the windows was partially rolled down and Stiles caught Peters’ attention, hoping that his glare expressed just how not okay he was with this. “Relax Stiles, think of yourself as a precaution,” Peter said like he was trying to be soothing. It came out condescending despite his attempt. It might have just been Stiles. “We’ll give you a call if we need you out there.” He headed for the tree line after Jackson.

Precautionary Stiles was not having any of this and he pressed up against the window having scrambled to the drivers seat when his dad got out. “Derek. Hey! Yes, I’m talking to you mister, don’t act like you can’t hear me. You are not seriously suggesting that you go up against a dozen Witches with no magical support, are you? Do you remember what happened last time?”

Derek was frowning but he looked a little guilty at the same time as he met his boyfriend's heavy stare. He remembered what happened last time. Stiles had thrown himself at Erica in order shield her from a ball of fire being thrown at her head. Stiles had burned his arm and Erica had caught a few embers in her eye, leaving her partially blind for about 3 hours. The Alpha’s eyes were slowly bleeding red and whether it was nerves from the impending fight or the effort from not buckling under the teen’s glare Stiles couldn't tell. “You’ll be safer if you stay in the car Stiles. You’re the only one of us who can heal magical wounds.”

Stiles made another move to protest as Derek turned and ran off. He let out an indignant huff, reasonably angry as he made a mental note to have a nice long talk with Derek about this later, but his dad caught his eye. “Son, Derek is right. We may come back with some injuries and you’re magic will be big help to us then.”

As much as Stiles wanted to argue that if they were going to play the who-is-most-useful-in-a-supernatural-fight card then maybe his dad should be sitting this one out as well. Though they’d sort of gotten past the point where Stiles could tell his dad to stay out of the supernatural bullshit he constantly found himself in on a nightly basis. The Sheriff had the upper hand in the fact that he could still play the I’m-your-father-do-as-I-say-or-im-grounding-you-for-a-month-and-lets-not-forget-you-lied-to-me-for-years-about-this-crap card. 

Stiles rolled his eyes but leaned back in his seat grudgingly. “So I’m Florence Fucking Nightingale now?”

“Language,” his dad scolded. He pointed at the window as the others started for the trees and Stiles heard his father say; “Stay!” Stiles let out a 'woof' in retaliation. 

The four of them disappeared into the forest leaving Stiles alone in the cruiser. Stalled on the side of the road. In the dark. Completely. Unsupervised. 

It took about 60 seconds for the Alpha’s (and his fathers) order to hold out.

“…What made them think this was a good idea?” Stiles muttered with a shake of his head as he unbuckled his seatbelt and popped open the door. He hopped out and jogged around to the back of the cruiser where he opened up the trunk and grabbed one of his father’s spare service pieces, checked that it was loaded with riot ammunition and then slipped on a little _extra_ protection. Once he was done, shirt settled comfortably over the new addition, he jogged after the others.

The first gunshot that cracked through the night made him break out into a run.


	2. Martyr complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of them were too happy when one of them pulled out an S&M 9mm and fired a round into a tree right above John’s shoulder. They all sort of wished Allison and Chris were there to offer some less magical, more modern militia backup and at that point none of them were paying much attention when Stiles joined the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do jump around POV quite a bit. sorry if it confuses anyone. All of them just have so many FEELINGS!
> 
> And apparently i have no idea how to do italics in here.... that makes this interesting.

The pack had decided to let the Sheriff in the loop almost two years back before his son’s senior year. Since then he had dealt with a lot of weirdness but he had come to a grudging understanding of the existence of the supernatural creatures that lived in his town and he was more or less used to it by now. But the supernatural always had a way of surprising him in unpleasant ways. The witches for instance: magic spells, ritual sacrifice, too much eyeliner, general badness, cackling in an evil fashion whenever they were pleased with themselves. Sure, he was down with that; his son made him watch an episode or eight of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ after all and he knew Willowing out when he saw it. However they also had guns. None of them were too happy when one of them pulled out an S &M 9mm and fired a round into a tree right above John’s shoulder. They all sort of wished Allison and Chris were there to offer some less magical, more modern militia backup and at that point none of them were paying much attention when Stiles joined the fray. 

A bullet ripped into a tree just to the left of him and Stiles paused for a moment as it sent a spray of wood splintering into the air. He’d learned to have a healthy respect and fear of guns way _before_ any of the supernatural dangers took over his daily life. It came with being the son of the Sheriff. He saw his dad put a bullet in the leg of the witch that shot at him and the woman went down ungracefully. 

Ethan was on three of the witches, Derek taking on two, and Peter and Jackson went after three of the weaker looking ones who were casting their spells together. Isaac had the Sheriff’s back as he went after one who had the 12-year-old girl gagged and tied up a little ways off. That left three unaccounted for and Stiles decided he could do some cleanup and magical sniping from a safe-ish distance. 

He reached into his belt and flipped open one of the many pouches there, fingers dipping into the purified salt. It was one of the precautions he’d taken against the Witches. Salt tended to cancel out or at least hinder a lot of their spells if used correctly.

Stiles put the pinch of salt to the nozzle of his gun and let it filter in, mumbling to himself words of belief to aid him. Salt will slow them down. He also added, more for his own benefit, _and will not in any way interfere with me firing this gun_. Because his dad would kill him if he ruined a service weapon with a condiment. The Spark at his core heated something in his chest and behind his eyes and he felt his belief settle into the gun and the small white grains.

At one point Stiles got a disbelieving look of _why the hell are you not in the car_ from his dad, Isaac, and Derek, but he could really only manage a shrug in return and kept firing, occasionally lending magical aid when he could. The fight lasted for an uncomfortable amount of time, both sides losing and gaining ground every now and then while the pack made sure the hostage didn’t get hurt. Stiles and his father got off a few warning shots but the Sherriff’s gun had real bullets and Stiles had rubber. Meaning Stiles wasn’t afraid to go for ‘kill shots’. He was particularly proud of the massive bruise he was sure to leave on one of the witches heads as a salt augmented rubber bullet got him right between the eyes and dropped him to the ground.

Then there were cries of pain from both sides and Stiles saw Isaac tumble over, a large cut to his torso tearing his shirt in two from collarbone to hip. Green sparks played along the edges of the wound and he looked a little sick. Ethan was only faring a little better. Derek had a gash on his shoulder and like injuries dealt by an Alpha, magical wounds healed slowly. Jackson and Peter seemed to be holding their own but they looked drained and Stiles could tell that it had to do with whatever the three witches had been chanting while they fought. All their cuts were laced with the same green sparks as Isaac’s. Stiles did his best to hinder the witches but it was slow going and some of them laughed at his attempts, throwing offhand comments about how they were just _handing_ out the Emissary title now a day, which only pissed him off. 

“Such little parlor tricks,” one of them had taunted, slinging bolt of lightning like magic that had cut up Isaac and Derek so badly. 

Stiles barely got a ward up in time by throwing a small bit of salt into the air and. It still felt like he got punched in the gut and he was knocked into a tree. He coughed and shook the spots from his eyes. “At least I don’t have to resort to murder and kidnapping to get my power boosts,” Stiles winced cheekily. It wasn’t his fault that Deaton hadn’t been able to teach him anything else! 

The older woman just cackled. “You don’t _get_ power boosts, Spark!” 

Stiles put a rubber bullet in her sternum while she wasn’t paying attention.

Eventually the werewolf’s speed and stamina gave them an upper hand. Stiles, scraped up and tired, was about to look for his father when he heard his dad suddenly yell his name. Another gunshot cracked through the air. 

A half mumbled ward died on his lips as his mind blanked. He only heard the gunshot and when he turned Scott’s body was falling against him. He’d thought it was his dad. He’d thought it was Derek. He hadn’t even realized that Scott had shown up yet. He barely heard Isaac or Derek call out to him.

Stiles stumbled under the weight as he caught Scott under his arms. For a moment he forgot the Witches, forgot that Scott was a werewolf, forgot that getting shot was probably the least of anyone’s worries at this point in their lives. His best friend had been shot taking a bullet for him and he was freaking out in an understandable manner. “Scott!” The two of them dropped to the ground and Scott gasped in pain. The bullet in his chest was just off center and Stiles pressed a numb hand over it. Blood pooled between his fingers. “Damnit, Scott!” _DamnitdamnitdamnitstupidScott!_ “Scott, buddy, you alright?” His voice was high with worry as Isaac and Ethan came skidding down beside them. Their set of Witches were already on the ground and not getting up any time soon. He could hear his father call that he’d gotten the hostage. Derek helped Peter and Jackson knock out the remaining Witches and Scott groaned and coughed as they came over. 

“You gonna’ live McCall?” Jackson asked, looking over the damage. There was some sympathy, but not much. Stiles wanted to kick him in the teeth. 

“He’s healing, it’s fine,” Ethan said, giving a sniff over his pack mate. “There was no wolfsbane in any of these. They were just regular bullets.”

Oh, just a _regular_ bullet hit him in the chest. Well excuse me, Stiles thought. Seeing the bullet push out of Scott’s body and roll off his chest didn’t help and Stiles made a pained face, removing his bloody hands from his best friend’s chest.

“Man, that will never not hurt,” Scott winced quietly. 

All the remaining Witches were down for the count and Peter walked over to them sluggishly, rolling his neck and cracking it for effect. “John is checking over the hostage.” 

“Good,” Scott’s voice was horse. “Got the ambulance parked just up the hill.” Stiles noticed he was still in his scrubs, a little dirty and torn now, meaning he’d been in the middle of work when he’d come out here. But he was fine. He’d live. And now Stiles could be angry. 

The teen bore down on his friend, yanking him up to his feet quickly by his arm when Scott went to stand up on his own. “What the hell is wrong with you, Scott?” Stiles demanded. His tone was hard and it sounded more like a threat than a question. Like if Scott answered wrong Stiles might punch him in the face. 

A look of panic flickered behind Scott’s eyes, not sure what he’d done to warrant such a hostile reaction. “What are you-“ Stiles held up the still bloody bullet he’d retrieved from the ground and looked at his friend pointedly. 

“You’re seriously mad about that? You would have gotten hit!” Scott rasped out

“I’m aware of that!” Stiles snapped. 

Their Emissaries anger was leaking through the bond they shared and Derek had to take a breath to push it back and remain calm. He walked up to them and grabbed Stiles wrists firmly, forcing him to let go of Scott. “Stiles, he’s fine.” he grunted, thumb rubbing against the teen’s wrist. “Everyone’s fine. Calm down,” 

Stiles shot a glare the Alpha’s way as if saying _seriously?_ Isaac coughed a bit, looking pale from the blood loss and Derek was favoring his uninjured arm and shoulder. Peter and Jackson had dark circles under their eyes from the magic sapping at their energy and Ethan had scratches all over. “No,” Stiles said, feeling a little hurt for some reason, maybe a little guilty to see all the magically induced injuries that he might have been able to stop if only he knew _how_. If he’d only been a bit _better_. He felt frustration bubble up in his throat. “Whenever I get hurt saving someone’s ass you all jump down my throat for it. I’ve been training with the Argents and Deaton and I’m pretty damn capable now!”

Derek frowned through his discomfort, clearly not wanting to argue. “It’s not like that Stiles,” he insisted gently. 

That gentleness sounded a lot like pity and Stiles wasn’t having any of it. A new wave of irritation rolled off him and Scott gave a whine, drawing his attention. “Stop it with that look, Scott,” Stiles ordered. “It’s not like I don’t have ways of taking care of myself, okay.” He had a Sheriff as a dad and his best friend was a Werewolf. He was Derek’s Lupa, and an Emissary. He was a Spark; he had manipulated _belief_ god damnit! He had _magic_ and…. 

And he had a pack that had gotten the crap kicked out of them by other magic users. Twice. Hell if he didn’t feel like a failure. Again. The silence pulled on and Scott mirrored the apprehensive look from Isaac and Jackson. 

Stiles yanked his wrists from Derek’s grasp roughly and huffed, making Derek growl in annoyance at the loss of contact. The guilt gnawing at Stiles’ gut grew even stronger as his eyes lingered on the gash cutting into Derek’s shoulder. Derek caught where Stiles was looking his eyes flashed for a moment, turning his shoulder away so the teen couldn’t look at it anymore.

Jackson gave an epic eye roll at the other teen, leaning to one side a bit. “Okay, fine. I’ll say it since no one else had the balls to.” Stiles glared at him, bracing himself for the same old argument they’d been having for the past 5 years. The same one Stiles had with almost every person in the pack at least once. “You’re still _human_ Stilinski.” Jackson ignored the small growl from the Alpha and continued. “Face it; you’re magic is fine for mountain ash barriers but it can’t really stop a bullet as well as _we_ can so maybe you should just be thanking McCall for saving your ass from getting shot instead of bitching about it.”

Stiles gave him an incredulous look, eyes widening before they narrowed. The magic comment, as true as it was, stung something fierce. Stiles grimaced and yanked up the hem of his shirt. “ _This_ might have helped.” A Kevlar vest. The additional precaution from the back of his father’s cruiser. He and his dad hardly left home without them. 

Derek’s eyes fixed on the back vest that hugged the young man’s limber form and couldn’t help but linger on strip of pale skin just above the edge of his waste band. Any other time Stiles caught the man looking at him like that and he might have inserted some well-placed sexual innuendo but he just wasn’t feeling it tonight. All he was really feeling were bruises. To add to that, the look of genuine shock Jackson was giving Stiles was like a well aimed kick to his pride. Did he really seem that unprepared to everyone? For Chirst’s sake. _Sheriffs. Son._

Derek caught a whiff of blood when Stiles yanked down his shirt with a huff. “We’re not talking about this right now,” He cut in, stepping closer to Stiles. His voice dropped a bit. “You hurt?” He asked. 

Stiles glanced down and noticed Derek’s fingertips brush over the back of his hand, hazel green eyes shadowed with concern. He pulled away just enough that the Alpha couldn’t take away his pain but he tried to keep the snap out of his voice because he knew the man was concerned. “Less than you,” he answered. “I’m not the one with sparkly abrasions.” Derek huffed but Stiles had managed to get a small smile from him.

Before anyone else could mention the words ‘martyr complex,’ “Scott!” they all turned to look at the Sheriff who was holding a trembling, pale little girl in his arms. “I need you to get her to the hospital.” John checked his son first for life threatening injuries, not all that surprised that 1. He’d left the car to come help, 2. He’d ‘borrowed’ a gun and protective gear, and 3. He looked like he was in the middle of an argument with Werewolves. 

“Is she okay?” Stiles asked immediately, forgetting for a moment that he’d been defending himself.

“She’s in shock,” the Sheriff replied as the girl let out a whimper when Scott gently took her arm to check her pulse. “Nothing but bruises from what I can see though. 

“She’ll get a full checkup at the hospital,” Scott added. He heard his friend let out a breath of relief.

“Ethan and I will take the unconscious Witches to the station,” The Sheriff continued. “The ones who were shot go to the hospital in _secure_ wards.” Secure wards meant the ones that Stiles and Deaton had ‘reinforced’. Scott cast a last apologetic but not so much look at Stiles before he relieved the Sheriff of the shivering child. 

Stiles shook his head, ridding himself of the previous conversation. “I need to get these guys cleaned up,” he said to his dad as he removed the clip from his gun and put it in his pocket. 

“Chris’s house is closest,” the Sheriff supplied, watching his son handle the weapon. “You’ll have to walk but its not that far. We’ll meet you once we’ve taken care of things on this end.” 

Stiles reached out to his dad before he could take a step away. “You’re okay, right old man?” He resisted the urge to make his dad do a twirl so he could check for any sparks of green evil. 

His dad waved him off with patient urgency. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder and gave him a turn. “Get going. Isaac looks like he’s on his last leg.” 

As if for emphasis Isaac used Stiles’ shoulder to steady himself. “Taze them if you have to!” Stiles called as his father went to help Ethan. The last thing he wanted were any of those Witches waking up in the back of his dad’s cruiser and deciding it was hocus pocus time again. 

Stiles made sure his gun was tucked away and his eyes strayed to Derek once more. He winced a little, not able to help it when he saw the man roll his injured shoulder, eyes flashing red as he tried to speed the healing against the magic to no avail. Derek realized he was being watched and his face fell a bit and he stilled his shoulder “Stiles, you-,”

“We’re not talking about it right now,” Stiles borrowed the man’s words as he grabbed Isaacs’ arm and slung it over his shoulder, much to the taller teens relief. Stiles did his best to avoid looking thinking about all the blood he was being smeared with. “Come on, it shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes to get there.”


	3. The special first aid kit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And you look like you went through a glittery wood chipper.” All of the Alpha’s cuts were edged with green sparks, not healing, and the gash on his arm had been dripping steady rivulets of blood down his fingertips. “So just let me make with the magical magic and shut it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know Latin nor do I pretend to. Google translate has been my friend through all of this. 
> 
> I also feel I should mention that I draw much inspiration from other stories. If there are similarities they are not intentional. Some ideas are really just worth revisiting again and again because they are awesome.

Allison was the one to open the door and her eyes widened when he saw Stiles, panting, sweating as he carrying a rather limp and bleeding Isaac who has already said, “Kudos on not dropping me, man.” Derek didn’t look much better than his Beta and was being supported by both Peter and Jackson who really just looked fatigued and in need of a chair. Or the floor.

“Mountain ash,” Stiles said, panting, hand gripping Isaac’s wrist tightly, other arm slung around his waist. “Boiling water.” He added after a moment. “Some kind of malt liquor.”

“Dad!” Allison called without question. “Stiles needs the special first aid kit.” She slipped under Isaac’s free arm and let Stiles take a break. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the steady ache that had built up. “Come on, everyone in the kitchen.”

The Argent’s kitchen had always been sort of a hospital room for all of them at one point even after the Argents had moved into an apartment complex. Isaac, tall as he was, was propped up on the counter while Peter and Jackson deposited Derek carefully in a chair. 

Stiles caught the Alpha’s eye and the man motioned for him to look after Isaac first as Allison filled up a bowl with steaming hot water. “Okay, man,” Stiles said with a breath as he took up one of the blonde’s arms, examining the cuts. Still sparking green. “Tell me if you think you’re going to pass out and I’ll have Allison catch you.”

“Gee, thanks Stiles,” Allison drawled over the sound of running water.

Jackson let out a sigh and slid his back down the wall, closing his eyes. Peter rubbed the back of his neck but remained standing for appearance’s sake. “Not to rush you or anything Stiles, but do Jackson and I need to worry about this sudden onset of fatigue?” 

Stiles didn’t even bother to look at the older man. “I’ve got an idea of what they were doing,” he replied as he let his fingertips trail against the green sparks lightly. Isaac winced and Stiles apologized with a little smile. “You remember what they were chanting?” 

Peter thought for a moment, blinking away exhaustion. _“Somnus, nox, qui….quiesso?”_

Stiles rolled up his sleeves as Allison set the bowl in front of him on the counter. The metal container was hot to the touch. _“Quiesco,”_ he supplied as he dipped his hands in the steaming water. The wolves twitched at the sudden flare of pain from their Emissary. They came back red and raw but mostly scrubbed free of Scott’s blood. “No problem. You won’t die.” Peter raised an eyebrow but wisely kept his mouth shut. “Allison, how we coming on that alcohol?”

While her dad got the rest of the supplies Allison set a bowl of hot water a can of Heineken next to Stiles and cast a curious glance at Derek. “So are we Witch free?” she asked.

Derek gave a small grunt. “For the most part,” he said. “Some got away. It wasn’t too bad.” He shot a pointed look at Stiles. 

Allison raised an eyebrow as she pulled a telltale hole in Isaac’s sleeve. “I’m sure,” She deadpanned. 

“Allison,” Stiles interjected. “The beer is for Peter and Jackson. It was a simple fatigue spell so the hops will help. They just need rest.” 

The girl nodded without saying anything else and smirked as she tossed the beer at Peter. “You two can share.”

“I got the kit,” Chris announced as he walked into the kitchen with a box in his hands. “Whoa, why are you all glittering and bleeding on my floor?” he asked, looking around at the cut up wolves. Some fabric was torn and Chris’s attention was drawn to Stiles who was busy helping Isaac take off his shirt. 

“I’ll need burned ash,” Stiles said, letting the bloodied rag of a shirt drop to the tiles. His hands were quick and methodical in a way that came with practice. Lots of practice. 

Isaac groaned a little as Chris started to prepare the mountain ash. “Allison, you’re going to catch me right?” he asked woozily. He was cut off as Stiles none to gently slapped his cheek. 

“Stay awake,” he ordered seriously. “I will not have you wolfing out on me because the mountain ash hurts.”

Isaac shook his head and blinked hard despite looking like death walking. Stiles cast a glance over his shoulder and almost growled. “Derek! That goes for you too!”

Derek made much the same motion as he suddenly straightened in his chair, hand going up to grip his arm. The tile below him was already splattered with his blood. 

The three humans worked quickly, Allison patching up the worst on Peter and Jackson and Chris helping Stiles with Isaac. They applied the ash to the worst of the cuts and the long gash on Isaacs’ torso while Stiles muttered to himself, infusing the ash with his belief that any lingering effects of the spell would cease: that the wound would heal. “Feeling okay?” Stiles asked quietly as he and Allison doubled teamed a bandage that wrapped around the teen’s torso. 

“Feel like I got gutted,” Isaac groaned, looking down at the long gash on his torso with flickering gold eyes. 

“You kind of did,” Chris commented from where he was lighting more mountain ash on fire. The Beta rolled his eyes at the Hunter and Jackson yawned from the hallway, he and Peter having taken their ‘medicine’ without complaint. Stiles’ lips didn’t even twitch at the Hunter’s attempt at humor. 

Allison lightly nudged Stiles’ arm and gave him a questioning look. He returned with an equally silent comment of ‘I’m fine.’

Once Isaac was done Stiles ordered Peter and Jackson to help him into the living room so they could all rest while he dealt with their Alpha. Allison had noticed the looks that passed between the Emissary and Wolf and excused herself, saying she’d make sure everyone stayed put. Stiles gave her a small thankful nod and Chris left as well but he stayed right outside the door. Just in case. 

Derek had watched Stiles work on his Beta carefully and despite the small growls of pain that were coming from Isaac the boy kept still under the Emissary’s hands. Derek on the other hand wasn’t looking forward to his treatment. He trusted Stiles skills implicitly but magically inflicted wounds were never a piece of cake and always left him itching, wolf growling and snapping at anyone who tried to touch him. The last time he’d been injured by a Witch he’d nearly bitten Allison’s hand off. From then on the only ones allowed to treat the more serious magical wounds were Stiles or Lydia. The wolves tended to control themselves more around Stiles, and Lydia could always scream in their face. 

Stiles scooped up a pile of the mountain ash into his palm and brought it over to where Derek was standing. “Shirt off,” he said with a little jerk of his head, trying his best to avoid the flashing red eyes while Derek tried to meet his.

Isaac’s blood had replaced Scott’s on Stiles hands and his shirt, dark as it was, showed stains as well. The smells mixed with magic were a little overwhelming. “You look like you need to talk,” Derek said. He winced as he managed to pull off what remained of his shirt. 

Stiles quipped back, “And you look like you went through a glittery wood chipper.” All of the Alpha’s cuts were edged with green sparks, not healing, and the gash on his arm had been dripping steady rivulets of blood down his fingertips. “So just let me make with the magical magic and shut it.”

Derek smirked a bit but it turned into a growl when Stiles’ fingertips brushed close to the cut on his arm. Having taken on the worst of the Witches it only made sense that he had the worst of the injuries. The pain was making his eyes flicker red, fingers digging into the granite countertop.

Derek allowed his wounds to be cleaned without a word though each one seemed to sting more than the last. Stiles made small noises and commented; what was the point of being a werewolf if the healing abilities didn’t work half the time; that was just bullshit! The particularly nasty gouge on Derek’s shoulder was the last of the injuries and Stiles might have been a bit rougher than necessary when he was cleaning the dirt off. It wasn’t the worst injury he’d ever cleaned- far from it in fact,- but every time he fixed Derek up it reminded him of the arm he’d almost had to cut off during his freshman year. 

“Derek, stop growling at me,” Stiles muttered. Distracted, Stiles pressed a fraction too hard on a tender bit of exposed muscle and the mountain ash flared up brightly under his hand. Derek snarled and grabbed his wrist so hard he almost dropped the cloth he was holding. “Shit, sorry. Sorry, Derek,” Stiles said quickly, pulse jumping once before he took a breath to calm down. Derek’s fangs had come out, claws scratching the skin on his wrist and his eyes washed red at Stiles words. 

Chris was suddenly back in the kitchen looking between the two of them apprehensively, hand behind his back where he always kept a spare piece. “Stiles…?”

Stiles held up his free hand, shaking his head. He looked into Derek’s eyes and forced his breathing and pulse to remain steady. Derek wasn’t recognizing him in his pain, the magic in the wounds keeping it sharp and fresh. “Let go.” Stiles tried to tug his wrist away and Derek immediately shoved him back, hand fisting in the front of his shirt. Stiles heard a cracking sound behind him and felt a pinch at his shoulder as pain flared along his spine making him suddenly dizzy. He realized after a moment that he’d hit the windowpane. Chris’s hand was on his gun now, ready to draw at the slightest provocation but he could see the look on Stiles face and had some restraint. It wasn’t the first time after all. 

“Derek, it’s okay. Let go so I can finish,” Stiles said as the glass cracked a bit more behind him. The air in the room seemed thicker, warmer than moments before and Stiles heard the conversation in the other room cease as the wolves listened in. “It's fine,” Stiles called over Derek’s shoulder. “Stay where you are.” Blood continued to drip down Derek’s arm and the Alpha just growled louder at the Emissaries order to his Pack.

And that just made Stiles mad. He didn’t spend the last hour getting beat on and dragging four grown men’s half unconscious ass’s through the woods only to have a bloody werewolf half stupid with pain man-handle him through the Argent’s kitchen window. Fuck that. “You know what?” Stiles said, an edge to his voice. “No.” He flicked Derek right between the eyes; hard. 

A spark jumped out from the impact and Derek let out a noise that almost resembled a sneeze. He blinked, backing up and releasing the teen. Chris made an impressed, amused, and slightly disturbed sound –an amazing feat in itself, - and took his hand off his gun. Rubber bullets of course. Wolfsbane coated. Almost instantly the pressure in the room vanished and Derek’s eyes faded back to their normal hazel green. Stiles pushed himself away from the window where a thin spider web of cracks had formed, smeared by blood that Stiles assumed was from well...everyone who had managed to bleed on him that night. It would have to be replaced if they didn’t want a strong breeze to shatter it.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Derek made a low whimper in the back of his throat and Stiles held up a hand, silencing him. 

“Listen,” Stiles said evenly, “I’m just barely suppressing a panic attack right now and I have stuff I need to do so you’re going to put your ass back on that counter so I can finish cleaning the freaking battle wounds and then you’re going into the living room with the rest of your Betas.” Derek blinked and then nodded at the teen having the decency to look uncomfortable but contrite. “It’s fine. Just keep Mr. Growly to a minimum.” Stiles reached out a pat him on the cheek a little harder than necessary, forgiving his temperamental Alpha for being a jerk. If Derek kept his thumb hooked in Stiles pocket while the teen finished up neither of them said anything.


	4. Old tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek went behind Stiles and had the blood soaked shirt torn in two in a matter of seconds, eyes flashing red. Stiles heard the collective gasp and glanced over his shoulder. Oh, holy shit. The wall where he’d been sitting a moment earlier looked like someone had thrown bucket of red paint at it. “Fuck, is that all mine?” the question came out a little high-pitched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around. Well, shortER. Panic attacks forever! And ever and ever.

Stiles offered to help Chris clean up the kitchen but the Hunter refused with a shake of his head and handed him some gauze and antiseptic cream. “Get Allison to help you with your injuries.” 

Stiles shrugged and went into the hallway, not about to argue when he could already feel his nerves buzzing uncomfortably and the pain in his shoulders steadily increasing. He probably had some nasty bruises from getting thrown into that tree. Trees were not his friends.

He heard quiet voices coming from the living room but Instead of taking a left to go join the others he turned to the right towards the entryway. He stood there for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he listened to the muted voices of Jackson and Isaac bickering about something with the occasional quip from Peter. He listened to his pulse rushing in his ears, feeling the tacky sensation of blood coagulating between his fingers when he moved them. 

The gauze and tube of cream dropped onto the floor and he slid his back down the wall, knees drawn up to his chest as he stared at his hands. Blood. Everywhere. Jesus Christ. Magic. Magic was always going to fuck with him, he decided. Either his Spark was getting them all into trouble with a spell gone askew or it wasn’t doing enough to help. Salt coated bullets, really? That and playing nursemaid had been all he could offer today. Those Witches had been powerful but what was worse was they _weren’t_ the most powerful that Stiles knew about. Hell, if they ever had to go up against someone like Deaton? A _Druid_ for shit’s sake? Someone like Jennifer again? Belief had gotten him pretty damn far along but Stiles had no doubt he’d be slaughtered. Everyone would be. Derek, his best friend, the Pack, Melissa, his dad… good god his _dad_. He hadn’t called him yet to make sure they got to the station okay! Was that little girl safe now? Shit, what if the Witches had woken up in the car? Ethan could handle some wounded Witches but he had been injured too and all his dad had with him was his gun and those protections spells Stiles had sewn into his uniform and shit he really needed to call his dad _right_ now and make sure he wasn’t lying dead on the road while some Witch cackled over him dramatically….

Even as he tried to reach for the phone in his pocket Stiles felt pins and needles prick at his fingertips. His chest constricted slowly like someone was pushing their weight against it. No, damnit. No. He was not going to have a panic attack right now. His breaths came faster and shorter as the pressure grew. Yes, he was going to have a panic attack. Stiles shut his eyes tightly, trying to ride it out as best he could by applying all the tricks he’d learned over the years. Thinking of other things rarely worked for him. Holding his breath didn’t do it anymore. Counting to ten stopped working after the first few times. Counting to 20 was no good. 50; nada. Stiles bit his lip and his breath stuttered in his throat as he tried to hold it in and keep it there before his lungs could spasm it back out. 

The warning to Derek might have been intended as a joke but it had been a building thing for him over the last few months. After graduation the Pack came into its own strength despite their losses, but Stiles had hit a plateau. The classic plateau of the human falling behind his supernatural buddies. The only advice Deaton gave him now-a-days was; _“Believe Stiles. It is your most powerful weapon.”_ Stiles had mastered belief, really he had, but he truly believed that he was not keeping up. No matter how much he researched, how much he trained, they kept running into more and more dangerous adversaries and he couldn’t keep up. It _sucked_. And now other people’s magic was hurting _his. Pack._ And he couldn’t _do anything about it_. 

Stiles found he’d curled his knees up to his chest. Evidently he’d managed to draw in thin streams of air because he hadn’t passed out though there were dark spots behind his eyelids. His body had gone numb but he could hear someone in front of him. Someone grabbed his shoulders and shook. 

_“-iles.”_

Stiles was shaking his head, not opening his eyes. 54…55….56…. The thin breaths stopped. Air wasn’t coming anymore and his muscles tensed.

_“Stiles. -me! Ope- your eyes!”_

His shoulders were shaken roughly and the back of his head bumped against the wall. Stiles cracked his eyes open. His vision was distorted but he’d recognize that blurry face anywhere. Then he felt a sharp pain flair up on the left side of his face and air slammed back into his lungs, hissing through a part in his lips. 

“Stiles, you need to breathe! Look at me.” The order from his father had Stiles blinking and a paper bag was shoved over his mouth. Ever since his first panic attack when Claudia passed the Sheriff had taken to carrying one in his back pocket at all times, even after going so long without an episode. He would just tell his son it was for bagged lunches. 

The brown bag crinkled in front of his face and relief washed over him. His dad was okay. He hadn’t been blown apart by a Witch Coven. Safe. Good. Wait, no, crap. What about Scott and Ethan? Ethan had how many of the coven in his car? And they hadn’t caught them all either so maybe they’d go after the girl again. He needed to call Scott and see if they made it to the hospital. She’d been so pale. Had she lost blood? Had the Witches put a spell on her that he hadn’t seen? Oh my god she’d only been like 12 years old! Talk about traumatic childhood events.

The Sheriff had grabbed his sons jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. “Son, keep your eyes on me and keep breathing into the bag,” he instructed calmly, voice stern and unyielding. 

Stiles managed a nod as he tried to get the feeling back into his extremities. 62…..63….64….. He saw Isaac leaning against the doorway, concern furrowing his eyebrows looking like he didn’t know where he should be. The white bandage on his chest was tinged red. Stiles pushed the bag away, fighting off the flare of embarrassment he felt. “Back on the couch!” he snapped at him though it barely came out as a raspy whisper. He heard Isaac whine and his father directed his eyes again so they were trained on him instead of the blonde. 

“Stiles, keep breathing into the bag,” he repeated, guiding his son’s hand and bag back up to his mouth. “You don’t get to give orders right now.” Stiles took another few shaky breaths into the crinkling paper and finally closed his eyes as he felt the vice in his lungs slowly loosen. His dad finally lowered his hand. Derek had knelt at his side at some point, hand sliding along his arm. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the Alpha’s face.

Stiles could feel his face heat up now that he was calm enough to realize just what had happened. Embarrassment hit him like a ton of bricks and his cheeks flushed red. He’d been good about it over the years too. Scott, Derek, his father, Lydia, and Danny had seen him have a panic attack but he’d kept it away from the rest of the Pack, waiting till he was home alone, out of their hearing range, far enough away that they would not smell his anxiety and fear as he fought for breath. They already thought he was a little unstable; a little weaker than them, and Stiles didn’t want to prove them right. He didn’t want them to think that just because he freaked out that he wasn’t up to the challenge of helping them. Wasn’t capable of handling the stress. But….

“Are you alright now?” Derek asked, his touch gentle. 

Stiles looked up and noticed over Derek’s shoulder that Isaac, Jackson, Allison, Chris and -crap,- even Peter, were all looking at him, expressions ranging from wariness to concern. Stiles mouth turned down in a frown. “Weren’t you were supposed to be in a giant puppy pile making sure your Betas didn’t chew off their bandages?”

Derek's frowned mirrored his own and it was fixed right on Stiles. “Kind of hard to make everyone relax when we could hear your heart beating twice as fast as it should,” he muttered. 

“Well, I _did_ warn you,” Stiles said after a moment, not able to meet the eyes of anyone other than Derek and his father. Derek frowned and let his forehead rest against the side of his Lupa’s head, feeling the nervous sweat that had gathered near his temple. 

“You still alive?” Jackson tries for indifference but Stiles could hear the hint of concern in his voice so he managed a glare.

“Are you?” Stiles shot back. 

But Derek had a hand on his arm. “Really though, Stiles,” he said. “I can smell your blood.” 

John’s eyebrows shot up and he quickly scanned over his son again, positive he hadn’t seen any blood –other than someone else's- when they’d parted in the woods. He was pretty much covered at this point though having given everyone basic first aid. “Did you get hurt?”

The sharpening pain between his shoulder blades annoyingly reminded him, “I hit a tree,” Stiles admitted reluctantly. “Just cuts and bruises; I got a shield up in time.” Sort of. He shook his head and waved off their concern. “Just help me up.”

Reluctantly his dad and Derek took him by each arm and hauled him to his feet. Stiles regretted it immediately, brain lacking too much oxygen to compensate for the loss of blood as it pooled back to his extremities. He groaned and Derek put steadying hand on his chest. He didn’t quite understand the look of horror on his dads' face or the three shades paler Derek’s skin seemed to go. Suddenly his dads' arms were around him and for some reason Stiles was happy because it seemed his legs had suddenly decided not to function. 

“Wh-what? What the hell?” Stiles tried. 

“Stiles, quiet,” He dad commanded, voice tight with concern. “Derek, get his shirt.”

Derek went behind Stiles and had the blood soaked shirt torn in two in a matter of seconds, eyes flashing red. Stiles heard the collective gasp and glanced over his shoulder. Oh, holy shit. The wall where he’d been sitting a moment earlier looked like someone had thrown bucket of red paint at it. “Fuck, is that all mine?” the question came out a little high-pitched. 

Chris and Allison had pushed through the wolves to get a better look and Stiles could tell by the look on Allison’s face, too calm and collected, that he was not going to like whatever she was going to say. “Stiles, don’t freak out but there is a piece of wood in your back.”

Stiles freaked out. “Oh my god, take it out!!” 

Peter of all people stepped forward. “I don't think that's wise. We can see magic on it.”

“I’m bringing him to Deaton,” his father said, already pulling him towards the door. 

“Why can’t I feel it?” Stiles asked, looking first at Derek and then the rest of the pack a bit helplessly. “You guys felt your magical wounds!” 

“It was probably meant to have you bleed to death without realizing it,” Chris answered. "It might affect wolves and humans differently.”

Derek let out a sharp growl, silencing them. “Deaton. Now. Peter, get Isaac and Jackson back to the Preserve. Chris, you and Alison go with them and offer support for the guns. Look for the other Witches but don't engage unless you have to. ”

“I can come with you guys?” Isaac said suddenly, trying to look steady on his feet. 

Stiles wanted to high five the beta for attempting to argue with his Alpha but he felt the floor move under him. Derek’s features turned a little more feral at the small sound he let out and Stiles hoped to god it wasn't a whimper. “Call Deaton and let them know we're coming. Go with Peter and Jackson.” Derek repeated. “John, lets go.” The sheriff was only too eager to agree. 

At some point between the Argent’s place and and the Vet clinic Stiles became aware that Derek kept trying to leach pain away from him and his frown kept growing as he couldn’t find any. He was in the back seat with the man, half sprawled in his lap, leg pressed up against the window. He must have tried to say something to lighten the mood because his dad told him to be quiet again and Derek looked thoroughly un-amused. He felt the cruiser jerk to a stop but by then his vision had clouded over and he couldn’t hear anymore.


	5. Preamble to leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re just going to yank it out?” John demanded. 
> 
> “Well I’m certainly not going to leave it in,” Deaton replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one this time. Next chapter will have some weird POV shifts, so fair warning.

Derek would have kicked down the door to Deaton’s clinic had he not been worried that he’d jostle Stiles while he carried him. He wanted to be careful of his back and because of the concerningly large chunk of tree sticking out of it he carried him with one arm under his knees and one at his waist while the teen leaned against his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck. Stiles had passed out just as they arrived and his breathing was steady but shallow. “Deaton!” Derek couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice and the Druid came out of his office already in his surgical gear and opened the gate for them. 

“Isaac filled me in,” the older man said. “Get him on the table face down.” John helped Derek maneuver his son onto the cold metal slab. Under the harsh white light Derek held back a gag and the Sheriff grimaced as he looked at the Werewolf. His arms were covered in Stiles’ blood and the black Kevlar of Stiles' vest was shiny with it. It choked the air with a thick copper scent.

“Can you take it out?” John asked, hand gripping his son’s wrist.

Deaton moved aside the torn fabric of the shirt. His hand barely brushed the vest and Stiles breath caught. Derek’s fingertips hadn’t left his Lupa’s skin and spider web thin black veins slowly crawled up the back of his hand. It was more mild discomfort than real pain but he'd take it. “Stiles said he couldn’t feel it,” Derek said after he swallowed once, staring at the sparks of green dancing along the the thin length of branch where it was embedded in his back. The piece of wood stuck out just under his shoulder blade near the center of his back. It protruded about an inch but there was no telling how deep it went nor what damage it had done internally. Derek’s free hand went to the teen’s face, wiping away a thin sheen of clammy sweat with his thumb.

Deaton took a moment to examine Stiles before he rolled over a tray full of jars and syringes. “That’s probably due to the magic. Judging from the fact he was still walking I’d assume the spine is undamaged.” John look only as relieved as a father could holding the hand of his injured son.

“Stiles would have used mountain ash on your cuts, right?” Deaton asked Derek as he studied the ingredients on the table. 

“And mistletoe,” Derek added with a nod, remembering the smell of it when Stiles had mixed it with the mountain ash. "And beer for Jackson and Peter.

Deaton’s hand paused a moment over a blue jar and then moved to a clear one next to it. “Mistletoe and hopps. Interesting.”

“Why?” John asked impatiently. 

Deaton moved back to the table with the jar in hand. “Stiles is a Spark to he can enhance the properties mistletoe has on regenerative abilities,” Deaton answered. “And hopps is just...well, creative. I take it before he treated them the wounds weren’t healing at all?” Derek shook his head and Deaton poured the content in the jar over the wound on Stiles’ back. The teen twitched as the light green powder made contact and the sparks flared for a moment. Deaton muttered something under his breath and the sparks died out in a trail of wispy smoke. The Druid then picked up a scalpel and a pair of pliers. “John, grab that stack of gauze over there. When I pull the piece out apply pressure to the wound.”

John blanched. “You’re just going to yank it out?” 

“Well I’m certainly not going to leave it in,” Deaton replied. 

“He’s starting to wake up,” Derek said suddenly, gripping the Stiles' hand tightly.

“Well, hold him still then,” Deaton instructed, placing one hand on Stiles lower back, pliers in place squeezed around the branch. Derek and John put their hands on the teen’s shoulders to keep him down. As soon as Deaton started to pull Stiles eye shot open and he let out a choked cry, feet kicking out against the table loudly. Deaton grimaced and John and Derek winced. 

“It’s okay son,” John said, forcing his tone to be calm. 

Awake but only half aware Stiles met Derek’s eyes he could feel his wolf whine, only to snarl at Deaton a second later as he was the cause his Mates pain. “It’s caught on the vest,” Deaton grit out as he continued to work at the piece of wood with the blade, cutting at the bits that were stuck. “It probably saved his life.” Stiles groaned and tried to move again.

Derek had dropped to his knees so he was eye level with Stiles, still managing to keep him down. “Stiles look at me, okay.” Stiles’ eyes opened again and he made a thin sound of pain that Derek found himself echoing. He saw Stiles bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed only to cry out loudly as Deaton finally yanked the piece free. He flung it into a waiting metal tray where it clattered along with the pliers and John pressed the gauze over his son’s back, quickly staunching the blood flow. 

Derek whispered his reassurances hearing Stiles heartbeats become erratic. “Good, that’s it Stiles,” he said, the weight of his Lupa’s pain slowly lifting from his chest as his thumb gently caressed the back of the teen’s hand. His veins streaked with black as he was finally able to syphon away the pain which had come full force. “Breathe. You did great.” Stiles was panting, pale and exhausted and he closed his eyes again. 

Deaton let out a sigh and John hung his head, keeping pressure on the wound. “I’ll put some temporary staples in but Melissa should take care of the rest. Stiles has made it perfectly clear he never wanted canine anesthesia pumped through his veins.”

John nodded and released the breath he’d been holding. It didn’t matter right now that his hands were covered in his son’s blood for what had to be the hundredth time in the last few years. Stiles would be all right. He always was. He had to be. “Okay.” John said, sounding exhausted. “I’ll give her a call if Isaac hasn't already.” 

Deaton raised his hand. “Please, allow me.” He stripped off his gloves and left the two of them in the room with Stiles. 

Once the vet had closed the door Derek’s free hand came to rest on the cold metal table and he bowed his head, exhaling in a long slow breath. “I told him to wait in the car,” he said finally.

The Sheriff fixed him with a stare. “We all did. Repeatedly. Why did we think that would work again?” Derek huffed out a laugh and a small smile ghosted over the Sheriff’s mouth. “Following orders has never been his strong point,” the older man said. “But hey, he’s going to be fine. Stiles always said that battle wounds are awesome so he’s probably going to get a kick out of this when he’s conscious. Stillinski men are nothing if not resilient.” 

Derek smiled a bit and nodded. “Believe me, I know,” he replied looking down at Stiles. He felt guilty for making John reassure him. He was the father. If anything it should have been the other way around. But Derek didn't care about that right now. Stiles was his Lupa and his Emissary; as much a part of the Pack as anyone he’d ever bitten. More even. 

Derek lessened his grip on the boy’s hand so that he wasn't squeezing so tight but he didn't let go. He looked up when he felt pressure on his shoulder and was met with John’s understanding gaze on him. “Derek, he was ready for this," the older man said. "He’d tell you the same thing.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” came a slurred voice from below. John looked down and his face broke out into a genuine smile, some of the worry lines instantly vanishing from the corners of his eyes. “Hey bud. Deaton’s almost done and then we’ll get you home okay.”

Stiles managed a tired nod just as Deaton came back with a frighteningly shiny tool in his hand. “Alright, let’s get some staples in you Mr. Stilinski.” Stiles just groaned and let his head thunk back onto the hard table.


	6. like a Punch in the gut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone started to ring and Stiles could felt the nerves in his hands start to buzz. He tapped his fingers on his knee quickly. He needed help and he knew that no matter how dangerous, no matter how stupid or difficult, if it was for the Pack he would do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dribble between Melissa, John, and Peter, and Derek being harassed a little by the Pack. and Stiles making a decision that Derek wont be happy with of course.

It was later that night that Melissa showed up at the Stilinski house to check on her patients and she wasn’t surprised when she walked into the kitchen and saw Peter already at the table, chatting with John over a cup of black coffee. 

Over the last two years the ‘adults’ of the Pack used the Sheriffs house to meet up to talk semantics. Chris was naturally part of the group as well but they still had yet to get Deaton to show up for anything other than unavoidable meetings. The kids supported their parents having their own ‘Pack meetings’ even if they thought it was a little weird. Peter joining in was stranger still but after the crazy took a back seat he was actually quite insightful. So far the Stillinski men were the only ones who could stand his stark and dish back as good as they got. 

John had been happy to see Melissa as always and Peter had even given her an amiable nod of the head when she entered. It didn’t take long to check on the father and son, bandaging and cleaning what she could and insuring that neither of them needed anything more serious than some Band-Aids though she double-checked the staples on Stiles back and tsk’ed every now and then.

A little past midnight had an exhausted Stiles up in his room, Derek sent home by the Sherriff and the rest of the pack updated via phone. John had to threaten a few of them with cell time so they didn’t try calling Stiles and interrupting his rest.

Around 1 a.m. the topic of strategy to avoid their eventual impending doom came up. In this case, the Witches that had run off. John barked out a very non humorous laugh when Peter was done explaining his idea. “I think not.”

Peter, healed up and reenergized, looked affronted. “Do you have a problem with my methods now, John?”

“I don’t know,” the Sheriff replied, eyeing Peter calculatingly as he rubbed at a band aid on his chin. “Are there any resurfacing psychosis we need to talk about?”

Mellissa made a huffing noise as she came out with a fresh cup of coffee, clearly not sold on the plan either. “Boys, play nice. Peter, is there any way that your plan to lure out the remaining Witches does not make any of the kids bait?”

Peter let out a reluctant sigh. “Technically yes, but the easiest way to do it would be to put Stiles, Lydia, or Danny out in the open with some of the Witches that we captured already. Those three are magic users but they are human, containing less magic than the Witches. They are less of a threat than the wolves would be. The rest of the Coven would come after their other members to get them back.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “And if anything goes wrong Lydia can scream them into a concussion.”

John sighed. It was at times like this he wished he had Stile’s gift of talking a bad idea to death. “The fact that you think Lydia might need to give people concussions if things go wrong does not help your argument.”

Peter smiled sweetly at John. “I wasn’t aware this was an argument, Sherriff.”

John had picked up a carrot stick from the meager veggie tray on the table and pointed it at the other man, fixing him with a hard stare. “Come up with a plan B Peter. Or better yet, why not ask the rest of the Pack before you decide what suicide missions everyone should go on, hmm?”

“Well that’s no fun,” Peter pouted. “Kids like surprises.”

Melissa’s eye roll was practically had a sound. “And you wonder why everyone thinks you’re out to get them. I think I can safely assume that I speak for all of the parents involved when I say that you are not sending our children into a dangerous situation without exploring other options.”

John motioned to Scott’s mom like she was a work of art on display. “And that is why this woman is my rock.”

“Why thank you, John,” Melissa cooed. 

“Uggg, fine!” Peter groaned, averting his eyes pointedly. “Your faux PDA is too much. It’s like watching siblings flirt.” Melissa snorted and Peter waved her off. “I’ll talk to Stiles about it in the morning and see if he’s come up with any other ideas.” 

John nodded but added sternly, “Afternoon. Let him sleep in.” No doubt Stiles was awake still, thinking over the nights events as it was.

A noise from the stairway made them all jump. Peter silently cursed the masking spells that Stiles had cast all over the house. The boy could be sneaky when he wasn’t trying. 

John frowned when he saw his son standing at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes and looking dead on his feet. He started to get up from his chair along with Melissa. “You should be in bed. Are you feeling alright?”

Stiles yawned and then took a deep breath. “Just need water,” he said, shuffling into the kitchen where Melissa was already pouring him a glass. 

The yellow light from the kitchen made the dark circles under his eyes looked even more severe. He swished the water around in his mouth for a bit before he spit it in the sink. Melissa saw the wisp of red and her brow furrowed. “Oh, sweetheart, is the inside of your mouth still bleeding?”

Stiles blinked and looked at the sink. “Hmm? Oh. Yes, a little. Bit my cheek earlier.” Thanks Deaton, for not remembering to give him something to bite on while he’d had a piece of wood ripped out of him.

Melissa grabbed the saltshaker off of the back of the stove and handed it to Stiles. “Take the glass upstairs with you and gargle a little salt water. It will help with the cut. And remember to sleep on your stomach as much as you can.”

Stiles smiled tiredly and leaned forward, pecking his best friend’s mom on the cheek, growing more and more used to her mothering him each day. She'd been wary after the Nogitsune incident but when she realized how much he needed someone she kicked the fear right out and told herself that Claudia would have slapped her if she saw her acting this way. “Sure thing Mrs. McCall.” He yawned again and shuffled past his dad again towards the stairs, drinking some more of the water. “Night Dad. Creeper wolf, we’ll talk about that plan thing in the morning when my higher brain functions are working.” He yawned again. 

Peter just gave a small wave he knew the boy couldn’t see as he stumbled back upstairs in a half daze. Melissa turned to John after a moment of Stiles being out of earshot. The fond smile she had for the teen was replaced by a firm frown. “So, you said he had a panic attack earlier.” 

John leaned his elbows on the table and nodded. “Yes.” He’d gotten them frequently after the whole ordeal with the possession but then he started training with Deaton, ‘finding his center’ as they called it. With the new strength came some degree of calm and control for his son. It hadn't lasted as long as any either of them had liked. As soon as Witches and other magic users started showing up he became nervous again; unsure. Stiles was the one with the most experience with magic and with Deaton being Deaton most of the burden had fallen on him.

Peter’s eyes glanced up towards the ceiling where he heard Stiles getting into bed. And flipping open a book. The older wolf approved of late night reading but not so much when said reader really should be trying to rest. “He’s worried.” The steady hollow beat of the two human hearts next to him signaled that they knew very well what the boy was worried about. 

Melissa took a deep breath and let it out, reluctant to continue the train of thought. “Scott talked to me about it a while back,” she said quietly as she nursed a cup of tea. “Apparently Deaton’s not teaching him anything new. Something about it not being the way his magic worked.” The woman did not look convinced or impressed. 

“Honestly I still have no idea how _most_ of this stuff works,” John admitted, weighing his hands to the sides like scales, “Werewolves I can get. Get bit, you turn into one. Magic though…” He shook his head and let his hands drop. “Those Witches did things I’ve never seen Stiles or Deaton do. Hell, even the stuff I _have_ seen them do is over my head.” 

Melissa rubbed her temple. “There has to be something else he can learn,” she insisted. “I remember them saying something about belief? Sparks ran off belief?” she looked at Peter for more insight. “Deaton explained it to the kids once but I think it got lost in translation when Scott told me.”

“I think a lot of things get lost in translation with Scott,” Peter muttered, shrugging at Melissa when she glared at him. “You’d be better asking Stiles or Lydia about it. I’ll bet they're on their third Bestiary volume by now. Better yet, go to Deaton himself.”

John huffed, taping a celery stick on the table. “Hell will freeze over if I get a straight answer out of him.” This was a sore topic for him. By nature he was a straightforward man. Black and white, yes and no, good and bad. Deaton was all sorts of gray shades. 

There was a tick of anger in his eye that made Peter wonder if maybe the Sheriff _had_ approached the vet already about his very same topic. As neither of the other options where currently available for questioning he decided it was appropriate to fill in for some additional information himself. “There are different types of magic users.” Peter started. “Witches and Wizards rely on planned rituals with tools and talismans. It can take longer to set up and requires more supplies but the more preparation that goes into a spell the stronger it can be for them. Sparks like Stiles can also use tools for magic, like mountain ash, but their powers are limited by the strength of their belief. They have an innate gift for magic but their actual power can vary.”

John was rubbing his forehead, headache inevitable. “But Stiles can get stronger with more training though, right?” 

“I’m sure he can,” Peter conceded. “If you can actually train something like belief. But as stated before, Deaton isn’t teaching Stiles anything new. I won’t say that I agree with it but Deaton was the Emissary to my sister’s pack and not once did he do something without a good reason. Druids are all about the long game.”

“So let me get this straight,” John said, brows coming together and the hard edge back in his voice. “Deaton can train my son to be stronger but he’s _refusing_ to?”

Melissa reached over the table and put her hand on John’s arm. “You said so yourself that you don’t really understand this, John. Scott said he and Stiles had already talked to Deaton and if our sons can’t get someone to cave maybe there really is a reason Deaton’s not cooperating. He _is_ technically the expert here.”

“What about Miss Morrell?” John asked only to have Peter scoff right away. 

“Trust me Sheriff, Morrell isn’t exactly someone you want your son learning from or owing any favors to,” the Werewolf said. “We should all be glad she left town.” 

“Maybe we should just wait till things settle down a little,” Melissa said, trying to be placating. “For all we know it could be something that Stiles has to work through on his own.”

\---

Stiles sat in his bed listening to the hushed voices downstairs, open book laying flat on his stomach. His back was aching now that the numbing effects of the magic had gone but it was bearable, like he’d just had been hit with a two by four. 

Amber eyes traced all the small indents and holes in his ceiling from when he’d thrown countless pencils up there when he was younger. His mother used to call them lead stalactites and one of them had stayed there for three weeks. Now all his pencils and pens were scattered on his desk and on the floor along with the stacks of books and papers and files filled with markings and highlighted sections. Pages of hand written notes and diagrams, symbols and language translations were in labeled binders and folders, ready to be entered into his computer. The only place that was reasonably clear was his bed because he had to have somewhere to collapse that wouldn’t give him paper cuts or puncture wounds. 

On the table next to his bed Stiles phone lit up, buzzing where it lay. He’d been texting back and forth with Derek since his father made him leave and glanced over to his side table where the latest massage was still open. 

_March 1. 1:35AM From: Der  
Get some rest, Stiles. We can talk more in the morning. _

The texts before had been almost nonsensical dribble and checking to make sure that the rest of the pack had gotten home and was healing up. Lydia had called him against the Sheriffs direct orders because she wanted to know exactly what the spell the Witches used entailed so that they could research counter spells and damnit Stiles better be in bed resting or so help her god.... Needless to say since the Nogitsune, bad things did not happen twice to Stiles on Lydia’s watch. Unless Stiles was the cause of it. The Banshee had said early on that there was no preparing for a Stilinski. 

He’d assured her that he was fine after he’d jotted down a few quick notes about the Witches and then made sure that Isaac told Erica to keep an eye open for the remaining Witches in the woods. He doubted they’d come at them any time soon because there numbers were so low but they never were a very lucky group. The texts with Derek had been more constant and he had been subtly hinting that Stiles should be sleeping right now but the young man had powered through. Stiles phone buzzed again and he looked down, seeing another familiar name. 

_March 1. 1:42AM From: Scotty  
Derek told me you were refusing to go to sleep. The little girl is fine. I’m fine, Ethan got back from the station a little bit ago, Jackson is alive and cranky, Isaac is almost healed. No one died, no one is dying. Go. To. Sleep. Your dad told us to let you rest so put your phone away. _

\---

Scott finished typing and then raised a judging eyebrow at Derek. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” Derek nodded, his own phone cradled in his hands, as it had been since the moment he left Stiles side. About ten seconds later Stiles texted Derek back that it was a cheating to sick Scott on him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he typed out; SLEEP. He felt a heavy pressure on him and he looked up to see Scott starting at him pointedly. Erica, who had gotten her ass out of her house immediately when she got the call from Isaac and booked it over to her Alpha’s, was staring too, though her eyebrow was raised. Ethan and Isaac were trying to ignore the conversation and Isaac was at least pretending to look at his hands like something was suddenly interesting about them. Jackson was staring too but he managed to look smug about it. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

Scott didn’t beat around the bush. “Now that he’s had to have Deaton fix him up again,” he stressed the word and Derek understandably twitched. “Have you decided to tell him?” Scott had been in the loft ever since Derek had gotten back from the Sheriff’s. At the hospital he’d gotten a call from Allison about his friends condition and he’d nearly swore out loud for not noticing he was hurt. His mom had called later to give him an update and to remind him that next time she saw Deaton she was going to slap him for not calling her first. 

“Tell him what?” Derek asked like they hadn’t been having this same conversation on and off for the past month. They’d all been texting Stiles and comparing notes to determine if he was in a good state to be left alone and eventually the conversation had steered in a familiar direction: the fact that Derek and Stiles were dating but not dating and everyone knew it. The Pack also knew that their Alpha and Emissary were connected far beyond being almost-boyfriends, but Derek was content to leave it at that while all of them banged their heads against the walls. “We’re fine as we are now.” Derek stated with a shrug. “He knows he’s my Lupa.”

\---

Stiles tossed his phone aside along with his book after he’d read Derek’s demand and stared up at the ceiling again. The lingering saltwater sting in his mouth and the white noise of his father, Melissa and Peter whispering about him downstairs was an unpleasant reminder of what had just happened and he ran his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh, rolling onto his side.

What irritated him most was that he knew he was unprepared. Everyone had. He knew his magic wasn’t as strong as those Witches. They were older, had trained longer, knew more than him and had been able to use it to their advantage. Their advantage was the Packs _dis_ advantage and that pissed him off. He was the strongest magic user of their group just under Deaton and above Lydia and Danny, but he had barely been able to do anything against the Coven’s experience. He didn’t have the experience and the Pack had gotten hurt. His training was inadequate and his father almost got hurt. He’d known what the Witches were doing but he didn’t have the skills to stop it. They weren’t in high school any more and this was something that he just could not allow to happen again. 

\---

Scotts glare was the stuff of legend. “Derek, it’s not the same. You _know_ it’s not the same. I wasn’t born a wolf and even _I_ know it’s not the same.”

“It might as well be,” Derek insisted, thumb tapping restlessly against the arm of the couch. 

“Isaac said you wolfed out he was patching you up,” Scott went on, making Isaac shrink back and little and shrug. “And he was able to calm you down by, what was it?”

“Flicking him on the forehead,” Jackson replied, a unbidden smirk lighting his features at the memory. Erica snorted from her place on the couch next to him. Allison had heard it from her dad back at the house and couldn’t wait to share. 

Scott looked pointedly at Derek. “If we tried that you would have punched us in the face.” Not that any of them would have been dumb enough to have their fingers anywhere near an angry Alphas' face. 

Derek sighed a little. “He can pretty much do the same with all of us. That’s why he can treat our wounds.” He waved his hand a bit, hoping to brush off the conversation. “As my Lupa he knows he’s the closet thing I have to a Mate and that will never change. Stiles accepts that and we’re in a good place right now. Neither of us sees the point in labeling things.”

Erica looked like she wanted to grab Derek’s shoulders and shake him. “But he’s your Real. Mate!” She said as though Derek was slow. “You have got to tell him in case….” Derek’s warning look made her back pedal quickly. “In case…it’s important to him.”

\---

A hard look came over his warm amber eyes before the closed, brows furrowing. Stiles swallowed and pulled out his phone once more, shifting himself to the edge of his bed and dialing a familiar number.

The phone started to ring and Stiles could felt the nerves in his hands start to buzz. He tapped his fingers on his knee quickly. He needed help and he knew that no matter how dangerous, no matter how stupid or difficult, if it was for the Pack he would do it. 

\---

Ethan, who’d gotten the Witches locked up tight in separate warded cells down at the station, let out a small sigh. “Okay, I’m agreeing with Derek on this guys. We all recognize Stiles as Derek’s Lupa so just leave it as it is. It’s not hurting anything.”

“Well Stiles got hurt,” Scott growled, making the beta look away. Derek felt his chest tighten at the words and Scott turned his glare to the older wolf. He might not be the Alpha, but he was an alpha non-the-less. “Derek, you still look ten shades too pale and you’ve known that Stiles would be alright for the past two hours. You do not get that way from ‘being in a good place’ with your boyfriend. Stiles deserves to at least know that your like is a _Werewolf_ like. You know how he is. He’s not going to believe something unless its 100% certain of it and he hates being kept in the dark. You have to say something.”

Despite his embarrassment that everyone seemed far too invested in his and Stiles relationship, Derek couldn’t hide the small smirk. He knew that Stiles wore his social myopia like a disguise. Stiles absolutely knew how Derek felt, and vise versa. That was why Derek was so comfortable not saying anything out loud. They both knew it already so what did it matter if they hadn’t given it the correct title according to Werewolf customs. 

“I’ll talk to him eventually,” Derek finally said. “But not now. Not right away. He’ll want to deal with these Witches first.”

Scott and Erica, the two most adamant about the topic this time around, let it drop grudgingly. After another hour without a text from Stiles to any of them, Derek sent everyone home for the night besides Jackson who usually stayed with him while he was back home visiting. Like the Sheriff, Derek forbade anyone from contacting Stiles and interrupting his sleep. 

\---

The phone clicked on the other end. _“I can’t say I was expecting a call from you,”_ said a low, slightly tired sounding voice. _“Not at 2 a.m. at least. Those Witches give you guys some trouble?”_

Stiles pressed his lips together for a moment and then let out a breath, wondering just what his world was coming to that he would have to call in a favor from this particular Druid. “Ms. Morrell. You still in contact with Lady Marabeth?"

Stiles could almost hear the woman’s eyebrow raise. _“The Witch working out of Queens? Yes.”_ There was a pause and Stiles waited, sensing she was going to add something. _"Not that I'm not thrilled that you want to finally leave the protective little nest Alan has build for you kids, but you_ do _realize that you'll be running with a whole new type of pack if you work with Marabeth, right Stiles?"_

The teen rubbed the center of his forehead, wincing a bit. “Yeah, aware of that,” he said. “I need her number.”

\---

Needless to say it sort of felt like a punch to the gut when Derek got a call from Stiles at 8 a.m. asking him to call a pack meeting a.s.a.p because he was leaving in two hours on the next flight out of Beacon Hills. 

Non-stop one way ticket to New York. And he didn't know when he’d be coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird POV shifts? yeah. Weird. Did they work though? Was anyone totally lost?
> 
> And I feel I should clarify after re-reading what I've posted thus far. Derek and Stiles have an established relationship and the pack knows it. They don't really ever come out and say it because at this point its almost got a 'friends with benefits' feel to it, but in reality it runs much deeper. They have just been together so long in my head that i haven't bothered with back story. Yet.


	7. Return to Start, collect 100 “crap!” moments. 11 months later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11 months after last chapter. -
> 
> Barry answered formally. “Alpha Hale, I had a guy stop here a little bit ago. He went around back for a smoke and a Redcap attacked him.”
> 
> Erica who was sitting by Derek’s feet glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. Poor bastard probably didn’t even know what hit him…bit him. 
> 
> “I’ll call the Sheriff,” Derek said. “He’s on duty right now and can send someone out.” Scott was also on EMT duty at the hospital for a while longer so he figured he should maybe give Melissa a call and tell her that they might need to take the ambulance out there soon. 
> 
> “Uh, no,” Barry interrupted his train of thought. “He killed the Redcap. With a knife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sudden time skip! And now we get to the parts of the story that I actually wrote first. There will be more back story on Stile's in NY later. He made friends.

Not for the first time in the last few months, Stiles concluded that his life was a big fat karmic joke. _“Go back early_ , she says,” he muttered sarcastically as he shoved the gutted corpse of a Redcap off of him with a loud grunt. _“It’ll be fun,_ she says. _Surprise them!”_

Stiles knew the town had become a refuge for the supernatural and there were probably more of them living here legally than there had ever been those that had crossed the border trying to kill something, but his lovely friends had neglected to mention that for the past week and a half they had been dealing with a rather nasty group of Redcaps. These ginger cannibals had taken to the alleys and abandoned buildings like crazy homeless people on LSD. So he didn’t have any prior knowledge of them when he’d pulled into the gas station just on the edge of town. He was very quickly brought up to speed on the matter. 

He’d gone around the back to get a quick smoke in and stretch his legs and was immediately tackled to the ground by a dirty looking red haired man. It wasn't dirt on him though, oh no. It was dried blood, rusty and brown from age. It was crusted all along his hairline and caked on his fingers so much so that his skin was actually stained. New York didn’t really have much in the way of Redcap residents but he’d recognize that appearance anywhere. It was the hair that gave them away. Always red but it was made darker by the blood that they combed through it. Victims would be lucky to survive an attack either way, but if the Redcap had killed recently there was a good chance that they didn’t need that much blood to dye their hair again. Judging by the eyeful of pale red hair that this one sported however Stiles assumed that he wasn’t going to be one of those lucky people. He usually never was. 

After a few seconds of the humanoid creature clawing anywhere an artery might be Stiles scrambled for the blade he had in his back pocket. It came loose a moment later and he flicked it open by his side, driving it up into the man’s gut. Stiles grabbed on to the Redcap’s arm and the creature let out a gurgling cry, the sharp metal piercing just under the 5th and 6th rib. The creature’s dark eyes widened and the cry turned into a shriek as he realized the blade was _burning_. 

Stiles twisted the handle of the knife and felt warmth rush over his hand, soaking into his sleeve and the front of his sweatshirt. He painstakingly drew the blade to the side as the creature writhed on top of him, staring into the amber eyes of the human who was gutting him. Slowly.

Acrid smoke rolled out from between their two bodies and Stiles made a disgusted face. Cutting through someone’s stomach was never pleasant or easy. Flesh and organs were not like butter. Muscles were tough, fabric snagged, and blood made everything slippery. Stiles had also learned the burning flesh smelled rank up close. So very rank. A door crashed open and a man in a red uniform shirt ran around the corner of the building just as Stile was standing up and pressing the collar of his sweatshirt to the shallow cuts on his neck. The man was a thin looking middle aged fellow with a mess of scraggly brown hair and deep lines along his mouth. He was carrying a rifle that he aimed at Stiles, looking between him and the body laying on the ground.

Stiles blinked and sighed; waving the bloodied hand that was holding the knife harmlessly between thumb and palm. “So…this is so not what it looks like.”

The man tore his narrowed eyes away from the bloody mess of a corpse and looked back at Stiles. He lowered his weapon slowly. “I…need to make a call. Stay right there.” His voice was rough and gravely like a veteran smoker’s.

The man started to step away but Stiles shook his head, a little confused and he stepped forward. “Wait, wait, wait. Hang on just a _whoa, stop pointing that thing at me, dude!”_ The man had swung the gun back up and had it aimed at Stiles head with startling precision. His eyes were narrowed and mistrustful again. “I don’t know who you are kid but I should warn you that this town is under protection.” The man said. “Judging by the state of your neck I think it’s safe to say it was self-defense and maybe a good lawyer can work with that, but I don’t want any trouble. Neither do you. Not here.”

Stiles had his hand’s up, showing he meant no harm in the best way he knew how. “Man, _believe_ me I know,” He agreed quickly. “You said protection right? The Werewolves? Hale Pack.” 

The man looked startled but didn’t lower his gun as his eyes widened. “Who are you?” He’s eyes roamed over his bloody attire again. “ _What_ are you?” 

“My name is Stiles,” he said, keeping his voice even. “And you- you’re a Fae right?” He’d seen the man’s eyes flash green when he’d panicked a bit. “Listen, I live here." Stiles said. "I know the Pack. They are _my_ Pack actually.”

The man looked even more wary, eyeing Stiles like maybe shooting him was becoming more of an option. He glanced back at the body on the ground and then at the knife that Stiles still gripped in his hand. “…You look more like a Hunter.”

Stiles sighed. “Well, no, that’s –I mean I guess I _sort_ of am since I’ve gotten some training from the Argents but I’m not _really_ a Hunter per say, though I do hunt things. With the Pack. Before I left. I’ve been in New York training with a Witch. Adam knows her. Er, Dr. Deaton. The Deets. They don’t know I’m back yet though. The Pack I mean. Deaton might.” After throwing out all those names the man was looking at Stiles like he’d grown another head and Stiles just sighed. “Listen, just call Derek. He can vouch for me. The Alpha’s word should be good enough, right?” Stiles move his hands down and the knife flashed as Stiles wiped the blood of the blade onto his thigh. The gun jerked and for a moment Stiles caught the man’s skin changing from pale flesh to cracked and gray. 

“Calm down,” Stiles said as he put the knife away. His voice was steady and low, expression mirroring his tone. 

The man lowered the gun a bit, almost on impulse, skin coloring back to normal. “…I have to make a call,” he said again a little more slowly. “Don’t move.” 

Stiles let out a little sigh as the man went back into the store but he could see the brilliance of this idea; letting a Gargoyle run the gas station at the edge of the town. They were protective guardians and would be a great resource for the Pack to let them know if any undesirables came into town. Kudos to his little Werepuppies! He was sure it was Lydia’s idea.

Of course it was at that point that the other three Redcaps hiding out behind the tree line decided to finish what their brother had started. “Seriously!?” 

\---

Derek picked up the phone after it rang twice and he saw the number. “Anything interesting, Barry?” he asked. It was pretty late and he was at the house with the pack watching movies while they sprawled out over the living room. The Sheriff and the Ethan were pulling double shifts thanks to all these Redcap attacks and the rest of them were taking a break, on call if there was an emergency. Derek was on call, as always, sort of working from home. At this point he barely needed the badge, but it still helped sometimes. 

Barry answered formally. _“Alpha Hale, I had a guy stop here a little bit ago. He went around back for a smoke and a Redcap attacked him.”_ Erica who was sitting by Derek’s feet glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. Poor bastard probably didn’t even know what hit him…bit him. 

“I’ll call the Sheriff,” Derek offered. “He’s on duty right now and can send someone out.” Scott was also on duty at the hospital for a while longer so he figured he should maybe give Melissa a call and tell her that they might need to take the ambulance out there soon. 

_“Uh, no,”_ Barry interrupted his train of thought. _“He killed the Redcap.”_

The sudden uptick in Derek’s heartbeat had the wolves all looking at him, movie forgotten as they trained in on his phone call. Redcaps did not go down easy. “Hunter?” Derek asked. 

_“Not really sure,”_ was the gruff reply. _“He says he knows you guys. Calls himself- Oh, crap, I think there are more Redcaps out there.”_

“Hang on, who is he?” Derek asked, sitting straighter. 

_“Said his name was Stiles? Weird name. Jesus, yeah. More Redcaps. Three of them. I got to go and help. Idiot's gonna' get himself killed.”_ Derek heard the sound of a shotgun being loaded and Barry hung up the phone.

“OH MY GOD STILES!” Erica’s shriek hurt all of their ears but they were all scrambling up.

Lydia, bless her unruffled heart, raised her head from where it was resting on Danny’s leg but didn’t even question what she wasn’t hearing on the phone. “He’s not due back for another two weeks,” she said.

Derek’s pulse was jumping as he put his phone away and got up, looking around at his overly excited pack. “I’m not taking all of you,” he said, trying to be rational though he wanted nothing more than to run right out the door and sprint all the way to the gas station. His wolf was howling at him _Stiles Stiles Stiles he’s back he’s home go get him go get him now!!_

“Did Barry say he killed a Redcap?” Boyd asked, raising an eyebrow. He was back for a week and his grandmother had been keeping him up to date on what was happening in town while she took care of the house affairs. Lydia and Danny now looked properly concerned.

Erica was practically bouncing off the wall. “Derek, come on, lets go!”

“…Danny and I will stay here,” Lydia offered though Danny looked a little disheartened by it. In truth Lydia just didn’t want to admit that she wished she could spaz out like Erica. She was a little miffed though. Last time she'd Skyped with Stiles he hadn’t mentioned returning early. The little jerk could have told her.

“Right, you two stay here,” Derek said, anxiousness creeping into his tone. “Jackson, you too.” Jackson nodded and sat back down reluctantly. He wasn’t a big fan of Redcaps but he’d been eager to go see if it was Stiles as well, picking up on the rest of the pack’s excitement. “Boyd, Erica, come with me.”

“That leaves a seat for me.” Derek looked to the side and saw Peter coming out from the study, already pulling on a coat.

Derek sighed but was too impatient to argue and his wolf would have no more waiting. “Fine, come on.”

Thanks to blatant disregard of the speed limits that would have had the Sheriff frowning they pulled up to the gas station about ten minutes later. Each second that passed had them fidgeting more and more. They felt the bond that had seemed so faint due to the distance grow stronger and stronger the closer they got. They could feel Stiles again, close, where he should be.

They’d all been pretty pissed off that Stiles had up and decided to move to New York without so much a days notice but they couldn’t really argue with; _“I’m going to train okay, it’s not a vacation. You want me to get killed? I thought not. I’m tired of only knowing a part of what I need to know about this whole magic thing and if I’m going to be helping you guys for the rest of the foreseeable future I need to be a lot better than I am now. Deaton isn’t talking so I’m going to someone who will. I can help the Pack more if I train properly.”_

For Derek it wasn’t that it was a strong argument on Stiles part that convinced him more than the fact that the teen had said he would stay with them. Stay with him. With their Pack. Indefinitely. 

His wolf had downright frolicked. 

They could smell the blood even from inside the car and panic slipped through the Alpha, hands gripping the wheel tightly and hoping Barry was doing his duty and protecting even if he was unsure about who Stiles was. They all piled out of the car and ran around to the back of the building, seeing Barry standing there with the gun at his side and not moving. “Barry, what-?” But Derek was cut off by a litany of curses coming from an area closer to the tree line. 

“You do not,” _Crack._ “Attack,” _Crack._ “Random people,” _Crack._ “At gas stations!” _Crack._ "Gas stations," _Crack._ "Are creepy," _Crack._ "Enough!"

They could see a man straddling a thrashing body beneath him. A long blood slicked knife was in his hand and he punched the man repeatedly. He had a bright red sweatshirt on with the hood pulled up and black jeans with holes in them, more for comfort than fashion. 

Derek sniffed at the air, frowning at the acrid stench of old and new blood. Peter just looked amused, eyes glittering blue in the darkness as he watched the red clad young man teach the supernatural creature a lesson Stiles Style, noting with some amount of satisfaction that there was a glimmer of rune markings etched into his blade. A little more shocking though were the three other bodies littering the ground. Each of them had been pierced in the gut and eviscerated with a single clean cut. Since they were already covered in blood it was hard to tell if they were actually dead but they certainly wouldn’t be recovering from those wounds any time soon. The knife Stiles held made a slashing motion and the man flailing underneath him went still. They heard Stiles swear some more as he stood up.

It might have been the scent of blood permeating the air mixed with the feelings of anger, fear, and pain that had her thrown for a loop, but Erica was laughing. The sound was slightly out of place now that the echo of grunting and breaking bones was absent. Stiles turned to look at her as he wiped some bloody unmentionable thing off of his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing the blood that was already there. He looked surprised for a moment but he stood up from his position over the body, pulling his hood back and revealing hair that was a few inches longer than it had been before he left. His face broke out into a huge grin that made Derek’s stomach flip. “What’s so funny?”

The blond just giggled again and shook her head, skipping over to him, metaphorical but not so much tail wagging. “Oh, just remembering you saying you were just 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones with sarcasm as your only defense.” 

Stiles snorted as he slipped the long blade into a sheath Derek hadn’t noticed at his his waistband. “158 now actually, and it’s still a nostalgic favorite of mine.” He made a disgusted sound as he lifted his boot out of what could only be identified as bits of lower intestinal tract. Erica howled in laughter at the man’s face. Yep, that was Stiles all right. Boyd and Erica were on him a few moments later and he was sandwiched between them as they scented him and caught up on almost a years worth of touching, blood and all. 

“Ooh, woah, Stiles,” Erica said after a moment, pulling back a bit to just stare at his chest for a second. “Where did that come from?” She pat him a bit as an approving and appreciative look sparked in her eyes. “Are those…are those _abs_ I feel?”

“Fighting off muggers in New york,” Stiles teased as she buried her face in his neck, needing to stand on her toes to do so. The blip of a lie in his heartbeat was the only thing that kept Derek from growling. Muggers _better_ not have touched him while he was away. 

“Stiiiles, you smell weird,” the she-wolf whined as she rubbed her check on Stile’s chest. Blood coated her chin.

“New York does have a pungent odor,” Peter mused with a grin that was half creepy and half genuine. Only Peter could pull it off. “Welcome back by the way.” He glanced around at the less than lively ‘welcome party.’ “Beacon Hills homecoming style.” Stiles threw the older Werewolf a wire grin. 

“No, it’s like,” Boyd had his nose buried in Stiles long hair, looking contemplating and not at all uncomfortable hugging the young man. “Lack of something? And then you…added something?” Erica nodded in agreement with the cryptic-ness, nose tickling Stiles neck and shoulder. 

"Thats not obscure at all, Deaton Jr," Stiles snarked.

“Yes,thank you for that insight, Boyd.” Derek stepped closer and made a move with his hand so that the beta’s would stop clinging. Stiles stepped immediately into Derek’s arms and the Alpha couldn’t fight the smile as he wrapped his arms around the man. He breathed in the nostalgic scent of curly fries and off brand shampoo and felt himself relax more than he had on the last 11 months. Damn, Stiles needed to be scent marked by the Pack again. It wasn’t right that their smell was so faint on his skin, covered by other things and people- other _wolves_. 

Now that the tension had eased out of his back, aided by the light pressure of Stiles’ hands, he noticed what Boyd and Erica had. A lack of a scent that had used to permeate the teens very skin. Something that had been a part of him since he was a child and very noticeable now that it was gone. “You stopped taking your Adderall?” Derek asked, slightly surprised.

Stiles just grinned up at him. “Yep. Magic, dude.” Which might have been Stiles’ way of saying that he’d found his balance. Or something along those lines. 

Peter had come closer and looked at the four of them, sniffing a little at the fact that Stiles had gotten blood smeared on all their clothing. “As great as this affectionate reunion is, maybe we should get back. I’m fairly sure Lydia is timing us and will do something deliciously cruel if we make her wait.”

Derek let Stiles slip out of his hold and the young man walked over to Peter, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Aww, are you feeling left out?” He jumped forward so quickly that Peter didn’t have time to react before the young man’s arms were around him, squeezing him tight. Peter was still for a moment before he returned the hug more gently than was expected. The other wolves were a little bit shocked that Stiles would do that after the years of bickering and sexual harassment threats, but then again, Stiles was the only one Peter put up with in that fashion. The young man held a special place in his twisted husk of a heart after all. 

Derek nevertheless felt a growl building in his throat at the prolonged contact but Stiles stepped back before it came out. “Right then,” He said with a nod. “I need a shower and some long overdue cuddles.” He moved closer to Derek again out of habit now that the man was within touching distance. 

“I’ll ride back with you,” Erica said starting towards his jeep, which was still at the pump. 

“Sorry, it’s packed with stuff,” Stiles said, making Erica whine. Derek felt like whining too. 

A moment later he felt Stile’s hand lace through his and the man tipped forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See you back at the house then.” The gesture was so utterly domestic and easy that Derek wondered if he’d just dreamed these last 11 months that Stiles was away. 

Stiles was back in his jeep and driving off before Derek really even had a chance to process what had just happened. A voice drew him out of his reprieve as he watched the taillights fade and he looked at Barry. The Gargoyle had an inquiring look on his face.

“So… _who_ was that, Alpha Hale?” the Fae asked, gun resting at his side still. “He said he was Pack but I’ve been here for almost a year and have never seen him.” Derek glanced around at the bodies of the Redcaps and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Quick, efficient, clean kills with a spelled weapon and hardly a scratch on him, grinning like a child when he saw their faces. “That, Barry, is our Emissary.” 

“And the Alpha’s boyfriend!!” He heard Erica shout from the car where they’d already all piled in again. 

Surprised, Barry looked at Derek for confirmation. Derek just shrugged and smirked before he ran back to the car. Peter held a finger up to his lips and winked at Berry who just shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. Yeah, he wasn't toughing that with a 10 foot pole.

When they got to the house Derek half expected to see a giant pile of bodies crushing Stiles as soon as he opened the door but everyone was just chilling in the living room right where he’d left them. Scott, -who had cut out of work early after he got the call from Danny,- Allison and Isaac had shown up at some point and they were all talking amongst themselves and looked up when the rest of them came in. “Where’s Stiles?” Derek asked unnerved by the fact that his wolf thought he’d vanished again as soon as he was out of sight.

Lydia gave a little smile. “Upstairs. He came in through the front about 3 minutes ago screaming that he needed a shower because he had New York and Redcap on him and he was pretty sure that Redcap did not come out of cotton. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

“Kinda like he never left,” Isaac mused.

Derek listened for a moment and heard the sound of someone in the shower. He blinked a little as he recognized the song Stiles was singing while he cleaned up and the other wolves snickered a when Stiles hit an off key of the Beatles, _Hard Days Night_ because he knew they were listening. 

“Yep, like he never left,” Jackson said with a shake of his head. He wasn’t smiling. Shut up Scott, he wasn’t.


	8. New in town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the gas station Derek had fought back a nearly insatiable urge to be close to Stiles, touch him, scent him, curl up around him and keep him at his side for the rest of the night. Claimed, protected, his. The urge was still there but watching his Pack surround the young man with warmth and affection, the urge felt less intense. It felt right again, seeing them draped over each other smiling and happy. It felt like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is back. Let the touching begin!

When the shower was finally turned off the Pack stilled again and they all glanced towards the stairs. They might have expected Stiles to come careening down but after about three minuets of silence and restless fidgeting Isaac called up, “Stiles, did you die?”

The reply came quickly. “Unless you want me to come down there naked, gimmy a second!” Issac gave an impatient whine that was shared by the rest of them though Derek was maybe a little disappointed that Stiles suggestion wasn’t an option. 

“I hear you thinking dirty thoughts,” Peter said with a little smirk as he flipped a page of the book he’d been reading. 

“Well now they are just thoughts of violence towards you.” Derek snapped. So what if he was anxious and impatient, and really, really, _really_ wanting to bolt up stairs before Stiles got fully dried off and dressed and just drag him to the bedroom to make up for 11 months of less than satisfying phone sex and back and forth over Skype which he had to learn to use because there was no way he would have been able to go 11 months without even seeing the younger mans face. 

“Stiles!” One more minuet had passed and it was Scott that called out this time. They could hear him walking around upstairs. “I’ve aged five years!”

“Oh my god Scott, relax! I got blood _everywhere_ and I will not toss my gut soaked clothing onto the floor!” Derek wanted to say it didn’t matter and he’d replace the floor if it got him down here faster. 

Another two minuets and Lydia finally had enough. “Stiles Stilinski, you have five seconds before I put that video of Coney Island you sent me up on YouTube!”

There was a small thump from the stairs and they could hear an irritated but human growl. “Swear to god you guys, I just drove _across the country_ so I think I’m entitled to a little R &R!” but they heard him coming down the stairs anyway. 

Stiles had always rejected honorary membership into the _Grrawr, Shirts Make You Weak_ Club that the Pack held monopoly on. He could joke and sass with the best of them about how he was a glorious piece of man flesh and way too sexy to be flaunting it shirtless or with clothing that actually fit and wasn’t made for a lumberjack. That was apparently before New York had its way with him.

Stiles came down the stairs with a little bounce in his step still drying his hair with a fluffy white towel. He was wearing a similar pair of black jeans with wear on the knees but they hugged his legs in a way that would garner an approving eyebrow raise from anyone who looked. A dark gray long sleeved shirt had replaced the baggy red hoodie that had undoubtedly been soaked in essence of Redcap. It was tighter than what any of them were used to seeing him in and it accentuated every angle and curve that his loose-fitting clothing had so obviously hidden. 

Stiles finished drying his hair, letting the towel drape over one shoulder and Scott launched himself over the back of the couch to get to him. “Why didn’t you say you were coming back early? We could have picked you up from the airport!” He grabbed up his friend with his wolfy strength and lifted him off the ground a bit, making Stiles let out an ‘I’m being squished’ sound. Scott noticed that his friend was a little heavier than last time and not nearly as squishy. 

“No idea. I’m regretting my life choices,” Stiles said. “But hey, I got some exercise, so, you know, bonus!” Scott set him down with a grin and they settled for a slightly more human sized hug before parting. 

Lydia was next in the lineup and Stiles got a fond look in his eye as he opened his arms for the lady who demurely stepped in, slipping her arms around his waist. “And awesome heads up on the Redcap infestation by the way Lyds,” Stiles said with a completely forced frown. “You wouldn’t really post up that video, right?” Stile asked. 

Lydia just laughed and pat him on the cheek. “Predetermined payback for not telling me your schedule ahead of time.” 

Isaac took over the hug immediately after the redhead let go. Stiles ruffled the blonde’s hair a bit and asked him to stop getting taller because it was just freaking ridiculous. He got another hug from Erica (along with a small grope which might have made him yelp a year ago, but hell, she was one of the sexier ladies he’d been groped by lately) and Boyd, who were happy he didn’t smell like stale blood anymore. Danny gave him another appreciative once over before he hugged him and welcomed him home, letting him know he expected a full rundown on what he’d learned in New York because Deaton being Deaton, and taught them nothing worth mentioning. 

When Allison hugged him she raised an eyebrow and she squeezed his arm a bit when pulling back. “That’s new.” 

“Et tu Allison? _Really?_ ” Stiles said acting affronted. “Did you all forget that I kept up with wolves for the better part of 5 years. I’m extremely fit!” He felt a cuff at the back of his head and turned to see Jackson before he got a quick, almost awkward hug from him too. 

“Don’t worry Stilinski, I still think you’re pathetic as ever. “

“Daww, missed you too Jackson.” 

There was a steady calm and ease that settled through the air as they talked and joked and it was like something that had been off for a while just clicked back into place. Like Stiles had never left in the first place with how they all eased back into their routines and mannerisms.

Lydia was right at Stiles side, asking questions about his training and what she and Danny could help him with, Scott was practically hanging off his best friend and Erica was leaning over the back of the couch with her arms around his shoulders, chin resting on the top of his head. Boyd was next to her sitting on the back of the couch with his knee resting against Stiles shoulder. Isaac was at the foot of the couch nestled between Stiles knees, tilting his head back every once and a while to talk to them and Jackson, of course, was back in his chair which he had moved just a bit closer. Danny and Allison had taken over the rug and were half resting on Isaac’s outstretched legs, laughing as they watched Stiles animated description of the one time he and his teacher ended up in the hospital because they’d both been so distracted that they misread what potion they threw. The explosion had decimated the Burger King’s kitchen. Fairies were freaking insane, okay.

Back at the gas station Derek had fought back a nearly insatiable urge to be close to Stiles, touch him, scent him, curl up around him and keep him at his side for the rest of the night. Claimed, protected, his. The urge was still there but watching his Pack surround the young man with warmth and affection, the urge felt less intense. It felt right again, seeing them draped over each other smiling and happy. It felt like family. 

A week after Stiles had left there had been a noticeable change when they were all together. It was a little tenser, a little harder to fill the silence, a little harder to laugh at a joke. Even the humans had felt it. Their weekly Internet and call sessions with Stiles helped but Derek had been able to hear his Betas whines whenever they had to say goodnight. All of them had slept at the Sheriff’s house in Stiles old room at least three times each since he’d left with the exception of Peter who would just go over with the pretense of talking to John about something and end up staying the night on the couch because ‘it was too late to go out anymore’. John didn’t even bother to lock his son’s bedroom window anymore and took to preparing a little more for breakfast each day and leaving it in the oven for when they woke up.

“Holy shit!” Derek blinked and started at Stiles who had sat up straight on the couch. “Guys, I need to make food, like right now.” He wormed and wiggled his way out from the arms and legs and tripped a little. Derek caught him with a knowing smirk as his hand rubbed at the man’s side tenderly.

“We can order something,” he offered.

Stiles gave him a look like he’d just suggested that they kick a puppy. “You’ve all been without my epic culinary skills for almost a year and you’re not going to let me make food on my first night back?”

“Stiles, get in the kitchen,” Isaac said in a serious tone. The Pack did not joke about Stilinski home cooking. Stiles gave a salute to them and grabbed Derek’s hand. "Sourwolf, come help." Ah. Now Derek knew what the man was up to. 

The instant they were behind the closed kitchen door Stiles had him pressed up against the counter and was ravishing his mouth. The kiss was harsh and hungry and Derek let his fingers sink into his lover’s damp hair, thrilled that he could grip it now. The thought sent a buzz through him and his other arm wrapped around his waist, biting down on tongue and lip and utterly bruising the soft pink mouth as he made up for months of absence. Had it always felt like electricity? Electricity, sweetness, warmth, and goodness? Surely it had. The nicotine was new though. 

Stiles was all but climbing Derek like a tree before he finally removed his lips so he could get at his neck, submitting to the Alpha. Derek’s wolf preened as he licked a long strip up the pale exposed throat his hands mapping the man’s back, feeling the firm lean muscles as they slid down to his hips where he griped hard, pressing their bodies flush and letting Stiles feel just how much he effected him. 

“God, I missed you,” Stiles said, voice already husky as his long fingers fisted into the back of Derek’s shirt. “Almost drove back here like seven times.” Derek felt the younger man’s hips roll into him and his lips parted in a silent moan, knowing the rest of the Pack could hear. They knew better than to say anything though. 

“I almost drove up there like 10 times,” Derek responded sounding equally gone. He brought his hands up to cup Stiles neck on either side and made the young man look at him. Whisky eyes were hazed and his hair was mussed from Derek’s fingers and for a moment the Alpha wished he could always look like that. Look like he was begging him for another kiss. His wolf would never let his Mate out of sight again. “No more long vacations, okay?” Derek said, completely serious even though he smirked like it was a joke. “It felt… weird with you gone.”

Stiles smiled, hands reaching up to cover Derek’s. Pressing more firmly against his neck Derek could feel the man’s pulse on his palms. It was steady and strong and his wolf was instantly lulled by it, like listening to a childhood lullaby. “Yeah, but you could still feel me right?” he asked. 

Derek gave the man a small smile and nodded. “Every second. I can always.” Derek had been worried at first, as they all had. What if the distance really did separate them too much? What if they lost the bond?

But they hadn’t; not at all, which was proven the moment that Stiles came back.


	9. Tattoos and peircings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They aren’t all that impressive right now,” Stiles insisted, scratching at his temple. “Just normal tattoos you can find in any spell book.”
> 
> “Right now?” Isaac raised an eyebrow in a way that made Derek proud. “What, they change colors during the full moon or something?” Stiles was quiet, neither denying or confirming and Danny’s jaw dropped. 
> 
> “Seriously!” half of them cried out, making Stiles jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/28 update. Added a little bit more to this chapter that I forgot when posting the first time.

It might have been the fact that their Emissaries sudden presence had overwhelmed them at first and they just wanted to smother him with long overdue hugs, but once Stiles was free to roam the kitchen, he and the Alpha having parted reluctantly enough so that Stiles could actually cook something, Scott started to actually notice things about him. He’d been the only one brave enough to go into the kitchen after they’d felt the uncomfortable amount of lust radiating from the other side of the door and he knew the only reason the others weren’t in here with him was that they thought Stiles and Derek needed some time to catch up. Scott mentally insisted that they had all night to do that and went into the kitchen anyway. Stiles smelled like Derek already, that much was obvious to Scott, but he wisely chose not to say anything and Derek just leaned against the counter watching Stiles move about the kitchen. 

Scott went to the fridge and got one of the dozens of bottles of water Derek had stored there and then leaned against he counter next to where Stiles was setting out a slew of vegetables, eggs, and bacon strips. He hadn’t really come in to talk so much as he just wanted to have his best friend within sight range again. It took him being away for a long time before Scott really noticed that there had been a certain lightness to the air whenever Stiles was around, like their troubles were not really that hard to handle anymore. They’d been together since they were kids so it had really been a shock when that soothing presence was gone. 

He watched his friend move around, noticing that the awkwardness in his movements was still there but much more subdued; like the erratic jump in his nerves had been suppressed into a constant buzz, making each action a hair quicker, more calculated than before. Stiles moved some food to the counter where Scott was and that was when he started to notice the subtle, visible changes. Something glinted on Stiles’ ear and Scott made a choked little noise that had both Stiles and Derek looking at him.

“Dude, what the heck,” Scott stared.

Stiles could only blink, glancing to the side unsurely, like Scott was talking about something behind him. “….What?”

“I thought you hated needles.” Scott gave him a pointed look as he reached up a hand to brush at his friend’s ear where three small metal rings had been pierced through the shell. 

“Oh.” Stiles reached up to touch the rings as well. “I do hate needles,” he said as he started to rummage around the kitchen again for the things he needed. “But the need outweighed the freak out factor. Bronze, iron and silver,” he said, giving his ear a small flick with his fingertips. “I can channel magic with them. Magical accessories are totally a thing.” He reached up to grab a larger pot from a shelf and his shirt stretched over his torso.

“Oh my god are those tattoos?!” Scott practically flailed as he grabbed at the bottom of Stiles shirt, trying to yank it up. 

“Whoah!” Stiles yelped nearly dropping the pot he’d reached for. The rest of the Pack had all stopped what they were doing to look into the kitchen from the living room or at least zone in on it with their hearing.

“Dude you _passed out_ when I got mine!" Scott insisted. "Let me see!” 

“Ah, ah, you have to buy me dinner first,” Stiles said, slapping Scotts hand away as he walked over to the sink. He met Derek’s gaze and threw a wink at him. “You don’t.” Derek resisted the urge to snap his teeth playfully. 

“Dude,” Scott wined. “You saw mine.”

“That’s because yours are on your arm and you always wear short sleeves,” Stiles said. “ _Mine_ are all over my squishy parts and I’m a shy delicate flower.” Derek couldn’t keep back his snort. 

“Well, what else?” Scott went on. Stiles just raised an eyebrow and Scott sighed dramatically. “Well it's not like you mentioned these things over Skype so what _else_ is there? What went on in New York with that Witch you were working with?”

Stiles shrugged a little. “Training. Marabeth was really helpful. I learned a lot.”

“Deaton’s been weird since you left,” Scott said suddenly, making a face. “I sort of think he missed you.”

That had Stiles laughing outright, startling both Derek and Scott. The laugh wasn’t exactly humorous. “Oh, he missed something alright.”

Derek and Scott shared a look but Stiles didn’t elaborate. “Does he know you’re back?” Derek asked. 

“Probably.” Stiles started to chop up some vegetables. “But enough about that.” He waved the knife a little haphazardly. “What’s been going on here? I feel like I’ve been getting the bare minimum and I _know_ it wasn't as quiet as you all let on.”

Scott glanced at Derek now, looking a little frustrated. When Derek had explained to them why Stiles had left; what he was leaving them for, he had pretty much forbade them from mentioning too much to him. He knew how important this training was to Stiles and he didn’t want him to be distracted. After all the sooner he learned what he needed to know the sooner he could come back. Sometimes they let the occasional life threatening situation slip to him, forgetting how Stiles would worry and how pissed their Alpha would be for putting his Lupa in that situation, knowing but not being able to be here, but they couldn’t help it. Stiles was the one they talked to when there was a problem. He was the one that helped. It was why he was their Emissary. 

“It’s been pretty mellow actually,” Derek said, eyes practically daring his Second to say otherwise. “Nothing big has happened apart from some occasional turf wars and Fae passing through and causing trouble. Nothing we can’t handle.” Stiles glanced up as if noting the slight pride in Derek’s voice. It was impressive compared to how out of sorts they’d all been in high school. They worked together now and their town was safer for it. The people here trusted them, human and supernatural alike. 

But Stiles still made a little noise like he’d heard the Alphas little lie as well. “Noted,” he said, smirk pulling at his lips. Scott felt like he’d been caught doing something wrong and averted his gaze. Stiles cleared his throat and raised his voice a little, glancing out the doorway where he could practically feel the rest of the pack looking. “Redcaps were a surprise though!”

“Let it _go_ , Stiles,” Lydia called. 

Derek looked sheepish now and it was Scott’s turn to smirk. So much for having everything handled. “Yeah, they’ve been a bit of an issue.”

“We figured we’d have them taken care of by the time you got back,” Scott said, not wanting Stiles to think they’d been lazy.

“Thanks for _that_ heads up by the way,” Derek muttered. Stiles gave him a cheeky grin and tossed a bit of pepper at him which Derek caught with his teeth. 

“It had gotten kind of busy,” Scott admitted, managing to snatch a piece of uncooked bacon Stiles was cutting up. “That spell you gave Lydia and Danny worked great. They managed to seal off the Witches powers and we pretty much just shipped them back to Ohio two weeks after you left.” Stiles knew this though because they’d talked about it on the phone. The Witch he’d worked with in New York had been extremely helpful in that matter. “And Barry and his wife have been really good about giving us a heads up when someone…interesting is coming into town.”

Stiles nodded and smiled, remembering the gun toting gas station attendant. “Yeah, the Gargoyle a nice touch,” Stiles said.

“How’d you know?” Scott asked, surprised. Barry was usually pretty stone jawed about that kind of thing, no pun intended. 

Stiles tapped his cheek just under the eye. “His complexion changes a little when he’s agitated,” he said. “I think he thought I might have, uh….been one of those ‘interesting’ characters he’s supposed to warn you about.” 

“Well, not many tourists stop to get gas and end up gutting 4 Redcaps,” Derek said with a hint of approval in his voice. “I’d say you made a hell of a first impression.” He then went still as he realized something and looked at Scott. “…Jesus, I just realized we’ll have to introduce Stiles to more than half the town,” he said. While he’d been gone it wasn’t as if they could just tell everyone that their Pack was incomplete because their Emissary was across the country. Everyone just assumed Deaton was still the Emissary and no one corrected them. Packs were viewed as safer, more reliable, if they had an Emissary nearby. Beacon Hills had changed so much there was probably only a handful of people that would know Stiles now, even if they only knew him as the spastic kid who had run around with troublesome teenagers back in the day. 

“Stiles!” They heard Isaac call from the living room where the TV had been turned on again in low volume. “If you wear a leather jacket you'll be the new Derek! Work on your grimacing!” 

But Stiles didn’t seem too concerned with it, in fact he took pride in his new look and unknown identity now. “I rock leather now!” he called back. To Derek he just said, “Don’t work about it. They’ll see me with you guys first and then we’ll deal with the Emissary thing later.” It wasn’t like anyone needed to know what he was to the Hale Pack. A little mystery surrounding him might actually be a good thing at this point. “So there are a lot more Fae in town since l left?”

Scott thought for a moment. “I’d say it was about 50/50 between human and Fae now.”

Stiles whistled as he put everything he’d been working on into a large pan on the stove. Instantly the ingredients sizzled and glorious smells erupted from the kitchen. “Nemeton sure knows how to draw them in. Any serious challenges for the territory?” He knew there hadn’t been otherwise Derek would have called him immediately. Things like that _required_ the presence of a Pack Emissary. 

“You know we would have told you if there had been,” Lydia said as she and the others came into the kitchen either drawn by the smell or by the fact that the TV was just not as interesting as what was happening in the other room. She took a seat at the counter before all the stools were claimed. “And what is this I hear about tattoos? I wasn’t consulted about any body ink. I hope it's nothing gaudy like a butterfly. ”

Derek’s eyes wandered up Stiles body, watching him as he moved to get out some plates. Peter was already at the cupboards doing it for him. “Oh no, this is more interesting,” the older wolf said, making Stiles narrow his eyes. He turned to face the redhead with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Just some stuff I got to help me out. Runes, sigils, divine symbols,” he explained nonchalantly. 

“Well do we get to see them?” Erica asked, wagging an eyebrow. “Or are these tattoos in unmentionable areas only meant for Alpha eyes?”

Derek felt his face heat up though his expression didn’t change and Scott balked. “Hey, can we not forget there are _two_ alphas in the room when you make comments like that?”

Erica rolled her eyes and waved him off. “True Alpha, Alpha Alpha, we all know who I’m talking about. The only Alpha who has keen and invested interest in Stiles’ jun-”

“Anyway!” Jackson interrupted quickly while Boyd suppressed a smile and Isaac put his face in his hands. Allison’s lips were pressed together, literally biting back a laugh.

“They aren’t all that impressive right now,” Stiles insisted, scratching at his temple. “Just normal tattoos you can find in any occult book.”

“Right _now?_ ” Isaac raised an eyebrow in a way that made Derek proud. “What, they change colors during the full moon or something?” He meant it as a joke but Stiles was quiet, neither denying or confirming and Danny’s jaw dropped. 

“Seriously!” half of them cried out, making Stiles jump.

“Well, now you have to go to the Jungle with us tomorrow for Rave Night,” Danny insisted, no room for arguments. “We don’t even need to paint you up this time.”

Stiles blinked in astonishment. “Are you kidding me? The Jungle hasn’t closed down yet? How many people have died there in the last 5 years? How do they do business?”

“It’s under new management,” Allison filled in. “A Nest of Vampires bought it out four months ago and they totally know about a rocking night life.” Isaac only just managed to nudge Allison’s arm after she’d said it. The wolves felt their Emissary tense suddenly and Allison winced. “Shoot, sorry.” 

Stiles stared down at the cooking food, an unreadable expression on his face. Almost instantly the carefree mood in the room was gone and Danny frowned, feeling like a jerk even before Lydia glared at him. Derek stood up and walked over to him, slipping his arms around the man’s waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. Breath filled his lungs like he was coming out of a trance and Stiles leaned back into him and let out a sigh. "Sorry.” He unconsciously rubbed at his forearm through his sleeve, fingers lingering on a certain location like it ached. "Had a couple run ins with Vampires and they were kind of all 'bite first, ask questions later'.

At that movement a surge of anger surfaced and Derek felt a growl itch at the back of his throat. Lydia stopped glaring at Danny and turned to Stiles, green eyes suddenly colder, fierce in the way they only got when she was being protective. "How many" She asked. Stiles had called Lydia late one night in September asking if she could check with Deaton about side effects of holy water on a Vampire bite. Isaac had been working a shift at the vet clinic when Lydia had Danny had gone to see Deaton so they had filled him in before the rest of the pack. Just the idea that a Pack mate had been on his own facing down just one Nest was enough to raise their hackles; but more than one?

“There have been a few,” Stiles admitted after a moment, feeling Derek’s hold on him tighten. “I figured out how to handle them after the first time though.” He shook his head like the motion could push away a bad memory and let his hands rest over the other man’s in a reassuring manner. “They still creep me out but I’ve actually got a few Vamp friends back in the city. I know more than anyone that not all Nests are the same.” Derek could feel the tension ease away from his Lupa as he spoke and was happy that for the first time in almost a year he could be the one to comfort him in person. 

“If it helps,” Peter said, reaching over and stirring the pan of frying food that had been neglected, “We’ve never had an issue with this Nest. They introduced themselves properly when they came here and asked Derek’s permission before they settled. There are 5 of them total and the most recently turned one was bitten over 20 years ago. Their Head tells me she's got no intention of adding to her Family. Melissa sets up their blood transfusions at the hospital once a week.”

Derek felt the rest of the tension ease away from Stiles and he let his arms loosen a bit more around him. “Good,” Stiles said, a smile returning to his face. If the Pack vouched for them Stiles didn’t have an issue. “That’s good. Danny, I’d love to go to Rave Night. Everyone else better come too because there is no way me and Danny are the only one’s getting drunk.”

Erica flipped her hair and straightened in her chair, never one to let a tense atmosphere get her down. “Hah! Like I would say no. I just bought a new dress and it needs to be worn.”

“I’m off duty tomorrow so I’m in,” Ethan said with a raise of his hand. Alison, Boyd, Lydia and Scott chimed in as well and Jackson agreed after Danny stared at him long enough.

Derek felt extremely disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to go. “I’ve got a late shift at the station tomorrow,” he said, chin resting on Stiles shoulder. He made sure he caught the packs eye. “And we still have training from noon to 5 so don’t be late.”

“Whaaat?” Stiles groaned, slumping into the Alpha. “But I just got baaack.”

“Well, we _had_ a day scheduled off for the day you were _supposed_ to come home, but you wanted to be all spontaneous,” Derek chided with a smile. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and Peter cleared his throat. He’d been stirring the food for a while now. “It might just be my incredibly keen sense of smell but I do believe that this is done.” 

Stiles untangled himself from Derek’s arms quickly and stole the spatula back from Peter, turning off the stove. Now that the focus was back on food they could all smell what could only be considered an orgasm for the nose coming from the pan. “Seats everybody. And I only made enough for one human sized serving each so fill up on the chips Derek has stashed above the fridge in sealed containers.”

Derek felt too sentimental to be angry that Stiles gave away his hiding place, too pleased that he'd even remembered at all. “I knew you held out on us,” Erica laughed got off her stool to claim said prize. 

Stiles was not a complete ass and had called his dad ahead of time to let him know he was coming home early. After his shift the Sheriff came by the loft to wrap his son up in a bone-crushing hug. Stiles returned it with equal enthusiasm and his dad didn’t even comment on the piercings. They talked for a while, discussing living arrangements (Stiles said he’d be spending most of the time at the loft so calmly and surely the Sheriff didn’t have the will to argue it. Neither did Derek). Scott and Allison left first, seeing as it was already midnight and they were both busy the next morning. Boyd left shortly after them and Danny followed. Lydia’s parents were out of town again so she was adamant about being with people, and Isaac and Erica had opted to spend the night as well, declaring that Stiles needed to watch the last episode of Firefly with them as promised. Stiles readily agreed. Jackson who was on his last two days in California before he flew back to England went to bed early in the spare room, warning them that if the sound wards didn’t hold out on Derek’s room tonight he was going to barricaded them in. The Sheriff had the decency to pretend like he hadn’t heard that comment. 

An hour and a half later after one more hug with his now 21 year old son, the Sheriff told him that he’d see him tomorrow. With half the pack still in the loft Stiles felt more at ease than he had in quite a while. New York had been a blast (half the time) and he’d flourished there, but this…this was home. This was Pack. There was no replacement for that. 

He, Derek, Erica, Isaac, and Lydia all managed to squeeze onto one couch and watch the end of Firefly. There were equal parts of commentary and sniffles from all parties and by the time it was over Isaac was already passed out on Erica’s shoulder, snoring gently and completely at ease. The blond poked his cheek and grinned. “He never did this while you were away,” she said to Stiles.

“Pass out on you?” Stiles asked softly so as not to wake the curly haired wolf.

Erica stuck out her tongue. “You know what I mean.”

“It's relaxing,” Lydia filled on, nuzzling Stiles’ shoulder. “You’re not allowed to jet off somewhere like that again by the way.”

Stiles glanced at Derek who was nodding, but stopped when Stiles caught his eye. “So I’ve been told.” Lydia yawned and Stiles brushed his fingers through her strawberry curls. “You get the comfy chair Princess. Let the two Wereheaters share the loveseat.”

The banshee nodded and pushed herself up, Derek and Stiles following. Before Lydia claimed said chair she wrapped her arms around Stiles again, tiredly rubbing her cheek against his. She could feel the warm buzz of magic in him, stronger than before, but just as warm as she remembered. 

“Welcome back Stiles,” she whispered. 

With fond expression on his face Derek felt his insides stir as Stiles kissed Lydia’s check. “See you in the morning,” Stiles said. They made sure the three of them were settled and Stiles gently pressed his hand to the back of Erica’s neck as he passed and she leaned into it, letting out a rumble of contentment. 

“Night Batman.”

“Sleep tight, Catwoman.”

Derek looped and arm around Stiles waist and let him upstairs, determined to absolutely drown his sheets in their combined scents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What kind of trouble did Stiles get into exactly?


	10. Morning Pranks and Surprizes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10am found the loft relatively quiet but for two Werewolves and a Banshee creeping about with a degree of quiet Derek only wished would carry over during their training. Lydia, hair pulled back to hide the mess of bedhead, carried a small cleaning bucket filled with water in her arms. Erica quietly opened the door to Derek’s room on well oiled –thank god- hinges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Shorter chapter. This whole scenario was sort of not intended. I just wrote the waking up scene but then i realized that there had to be a reason for the....water thing. To make it relevant i added in a bit about Stiles new magic. wooOOOOOOooooo!

After graduation, Stiles had been supremely disheartened that he would never be able to prank Coach Finstock as a student again. In school it was fun, but after school it was sort of a felony. The outlet for his disappointment was to pull pranks on the Pack. It might not have been the smartest thing to d, but he did it anyway because every once and a while he got a reaction that made all the planning and grief worth it. So in his time away Stiles had delegated Erica, Isaac and Scott to keep things light back home and thus Pack pranking became a legit thing. The first two weeks he didn’t go a day without getting an angry phone call, which he took in stride, insisting that they would see the fun in it soon. Stiles got pictures Lydia took of Isaac with pink in his hair and Danny sent him a photo of the day Derek found that his tight shirts were actually too tight. That picture was permanently saved on both their phones. Someone planted about 200 catnip plants all over Erica’s yard and Ethan had a trout placed in his trunk, surrounded by mountain ash (thank you Danny and Lydia). Lydia woke up one morning to discover that she was missing 12 of her left shoes (she practically made Allison and Isaac eat their own shoes for it), Allison had a quiver of training arrows snap in half as soon as she drew them, Jackson and Boyd and their entire wardrobes switched overnight, and Scott had all of his ringtones replaced with dog whistles sounds. That sort of backfired on all of them but John, Melissa and Chris thought it was hilarious. 

Danny and the parents were left out of –and rightly so- because Danny was made of sunshine and Melissa, Chris and John had warned them that if they were ever pranked, everyone was grounded. Peter of course, didn’t count among the parents and was only a little aggravated that someone had put cyan pepper in his shaving cream. How they did it he will never know, but he suspected Scott. 

They all swore that once Stiles was back all the pranks would be left up to him from then on, but the whole group eventually got into it, as Stiles predicted. Unfortunately for him though he came home just around the time that prank number 287 was going to take place. 

10am found the loft relatively quiet but for two Werewolves and a Banshee creeping about with a degree of quiet Derek only wished would carry over during their training. Lydia, hair pulled back to hide the mess of bedhead, carried a small cleaning bucket filled with water in her arms. Erica quietly opened the door to Derek’s room on well oiled –thank god- hinges.

Both Stiles and Derek were sprawled on the large bed, blankets tucked up between them, face down in their respective pillows. Far from being sexual they looked like they’d just collapsed there and maybe had a little sleep war for sheet and blanket dominance sometime during the night. Not to say that there weren’t a multitude of hickies on the exposed bits of skin they could see.

Lydia smirked tightly, inching forward across the bedroom floor with bare feet. Erica and Isaac came in behind her, stealthy in only the way animals intruding on another animals space can be. The blonde looked at the taller wolf and they both took to communicating with hand gestures, not wanting to risk speaking out loud. _‘Go on,’_ they shooed at Lydia. 

Lydia’s eyes told them to shut up or do it themselves. 

Soft snoring could be heard from Stiles pillow and his hand twitched a bit as Lydia started to raise the bucket of water, a grin pulling at her lips making her eyes sparkle with mischief as she started to mouth, _‘One…two….’_

“Don’t do it,” Came a muffled mutter from below.

Lydia froze in her spot with the bucket of water cradled in one arm, Erica and Isaac poised behind her and peeping over her shoulder. Both wolves’ eyes went wide as they glanced at Stiles and then Derek. Neither of them had so much as moved an inch and their heartbeats hadn’t changed from the very slow and steady thump of someone still asleep.

“…Sleep talking?” Isaac whispered, looking at the two girls. 

“Derek says Stiles does that all the time,” Eric whispered back. 

“Bucket. Down,” came the muffled voice again. Stiles was clearly awake, but barely. 

Isaac blinked owl eyes at the girls and Erica shrugged, making a clueless face. Lydia tapped her fingertips against the bucket and opened her mouth to ask just how Stiles knew what they were doing when Stiles hand slid out from the covers and pointed at something on the floor. Lydia noticed a faint glowing blue ring around Stiles pointer finger. One of his tattoos. Stiles snapped his finger quietly and the three of them almost jumped back as a soft line of light seeped up from the floor, the same color as the line on Stiles finger. It circled around the bed and in front of the door. A barrier with no Mountain ash. Pure and simple. And not something that Stiles had been able to do before. 

Isaac's jaw dropped and Erica's eyes were blown wide as she stuck out her foot and toed the line curiously. Lydia, who sort of had the look of a woman who’d tried to argue against the stupidity of this entire thing but the temptation won out in the end, narrowed her eyes. It was the same expression she got when she knew that she’s about go ahead with something that will no doubt piss someone off but she’ll do it anyway because her amusement and gratification is more important than how the other party feels. At least she knew Stiles had been forewarned enough to hold his breath. She raised the bucket a bit more, about to toss it on the both of them and the low, sleepy growl that came from Derek’s pillow had Erica and Isaac bolting out the door yipping and laughing as they tripped over each other. 

Lydia had blinked and slowly lowered the bucket with a sigh, holding it demurely at her side and placing her free hand on her hip. She pulled off the smug look quite well considering the situation. “Morning Sunshines.” Her voice was bright, if not chipper. “You two have been asleep for 10 hours and twenty minuets. We thought we’d save you the trouble of a morning shower.” 

Erica poked her head in from the hallway and said quickly, “And it was all Jackson’s idea.”

There was a small thud from downstairs as something was dropped. “It was NOT!!”

“Ouuuut.” Came the muffled groan from both pillows. 

Lydia fled down out of the room with as much poise as possible and once she was safely downstairs getting chewed out by the rest of them for not going through with it, Stiles felt himself smile. Internally. Because he was still tired and his face muscles did not want to listen to him. The glowing on the floor faded down again and he tucked his arm back inside the blankets. 

“I applaud your self control,” Stiles grumbled as he turned his face to the side a bit. There were fabric marks all over his cheeks and his eyes were still shut, hair an utter mess. “Though you kind of deserved it from what I hear.” He’d been on the receiving end of many a phone call when Derek as being particularly sneaky with his counter-pranks. 

Derek just tried to burry his own face farther into the pillow while the arm that was slung over Stiles back dragged up till his hand was on the other man’s head, groping around for something- perhaps his mouth. “Words…too many…” 

Stiles didn’t even move when the large rough hand came to rest right over his face. “Still proud of you. No threatening to claw someone’s eyes out or anything,” he continued despite the obstruction.

“Throat”

“Mm?”

Derek couldn’t help the snort he let out into his pillow. His voice was gravely from sleep. “Ripping. Teeth.” Their own special threat. 

Stiles couldn’t help letting his tongue flick out and drag over the other man’s palm. Derek barked out a laugh and gave Stiles face a shove.

A minute or two of trying to get back to sleep failed miserably when they heard crashes from the kitchen signaling that someone was trying to make breakfast. Derek finally let out a sigh, rolling onto his side so he could face Stiles. His arm was strewn across the man’s chest and Stiles’s hand was gently gripping his wrist. It looked like he was almost falling asleep again but the slow circles Derek could feel being rubbed on the back of his hand told him otherwise. He just watched his Mate for a few moments more, starting at the mouth that had been so playfully active the night before. Derek let his hand drag to the center of Stiles chest, blunt nails trailing across the fabric of his loose shirt. “I’ve got a surprise for you today,” he said softly. 

Stiles perked up and his eyes cracked open to look at Derek. Thankfully the curtains were drawn so his eyes didn’t have to adjust much. “For moi?" He asked. "What is it?”

“That defeats the purpose of a surprise,” Derek said. 

Stiles pouted rolled onto his side as well. “Lifetime supply of Werewolf backrubs?” he guessed. 

Derek snorted and combed his fingers through his hair. “Don’t you sort of get that anyway?”

“True,” Stiles conceded, watching Derek sit up finally. The Werewolf could hear the human’s heartbeat quicken at the sight and it made him smile. Stiles nudged Derek with his foot after a few seconds. “Come on. Give me a hint.”

Derek sighed but his smile was hidden from Stiles’ view. “Well, it’s technically two surprises.”

“So helpful. Is it bigger than a bread loaf.”

“Decidedly bigger,” Derek mused as he stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “We’ll show you after training this afternoon, before you guys go to the Jungle.”

Stiles huffed a little and rolled into the warm vacancy of sheets Derek had left behind and snuggled into them, balling himself up even further into the blankets. “Man, and I didn’t even bring some souvenirs back.”

Now Derek turned and gazed down at Stiles, a serious look in his eyes. “You came back.” He said simply. Stiles cheeks reddened and he grinned in the exact way Derek though was so stupidly adorable. 

“I think you’re a secret morning romantic,” Stiles said.

Derek let out a playful growl and shoved the pillow back over Stiles’ face, thinking to himself ‘only when you’re around.’

\---

The Preserve

\---

“Sometimes I think California is a sun-blasted shit hole.” It was 101 degrees hotter than it should be and even under the shade of the trees training after 5 hours left most of them shirtless, and all of them covered in leaves, grass, and dirt that had turned to mud because of sweat. But that comment had every head slowly turning to Stiles, who, oddly enough, was the only one of them who hadn’t removed his shirt. 

“You’re thinking of Texas,” Jackson groaned, somehow managing to start sunbathing while the rest of them panted like they’d just run a marathon. Which they kind of had. 

“Well, we stole their temperature,” Stiles grumbled as he let out a loud groan and pulled himself into a sitting position, leaves sticking to his sweat soaked shirt, neck and arms. He caught Derek staring at him from a few feet away where he was leaning up against a tree, poised there like a well-oiled Greek gladiator in ripped jeans. “Ugg, Lydia was right. Humans should have sat out today,” Stiles said wiping the back of his hand across his forehead and barely managing to get rid of the condensation. Around 1pm the temperature had gone from mildly warm to the sunny side of satan’s ass crack and only half of them remained. Ethan was on duty with the Sheriff and Allison, Lydia, and Danny had all opted out of training early, finding some excuse that Stiles wished he knew. In fact, he was pretty sure they were all at the spa. Peter had made some offhanded comment that he didn’t want to be around a bunch of sweaty nubile young things and the creep factor was enough for all of them to accept the reason. 

“Bet you wish we’d given you that nice little wake up call this morning,” Isaac laughed.

“Dude” Stiles said. “You switched the powdered sugar with baking powder and made waffles this morning. You’ve done enough evil.” 

Stiles could practically feel Jackson grinning. “Worth it.” 

“It's too hot to come up with a witty comeback,” Stiles whined. 

Erica rolled over onto her stomach to fix Stiles with a smirk, dirt smearing across her blue sports bra. Leaves were tangled all over her frizzy blonde hair which she’d had to pull back because of the heat. “You could always take your shirt off, Batman. Why cover up that tattooed bod when the rest of us are half au natural?” Derek rumbled in agreement.

Stiles ran his fingers through his damp hair, feeling nine different types of disgusting. “Because I am a delicate albino flower Erica, who will burn given minimal exposure to the sun.”

Jackson put his hands behind his head, eyes closed. “And no one wants to see your skinny ass.”

Stiles threw a clump of damp leaves and Jackson made a pissed sound when they landed on his exposed abs. “My ass is glorious, thank you.” He caught Derek’s eyes flashing at him and he would have totally stoked that fire if he didn’t already feel like he was literally melting. 

“I’d tap it,” Erica lolled. 

“Over Sourwolf’s dead body,” Stiles shot back with a lazy grin.

Erica’s laugh was slow like molasses. “Hah, I’d tap that too.”

“Hooot,” came a tired groan from Scott who was face down and half buried in a pile of leaves. “Too hot for necrophilia….” 

Stiles snorted at his best friend who hadn’t seemed to notice just what he’d said. “Yeah, not touching that one,” Boyd muttered, trying to shift more into the shade.

Derek got up and brushed some leaves off of his pants. “Okay, time to head back,” he said. The wolves groaned and Stiles sort of looked like he wanted to find a hole to crawl into. Holes where cold right?

“Derek, the loft doesn’t have air conditioning,” Erica whined. 

“The house does,” Derek said. The wolves perked and Stiles glanced up at the Alpha. 

“Who’s house?” he asked. 

“Mine,” Derek said with a little grin.

“You mean the loft.”

“Nope. My house.”

Stiles just looked at him skeptically, obviously remembering the demolition of the old Hale house on the year they'd all graduated. “Okay guys, I think Derek’s got heat stroke.” The others were just grinning.

“Stiles, don’t be an idiot,” Jackson said as he grunted, rolling to his feet.

The Alpha stared at his Lupa for what felt like a long time until he heard the young mans breath catch in realization. “What?” Stiles squeaked, starting to scramble up. “Really? Derek don’t pull my leg. Did you really rebuild the old house?”

Derek just smiled and started to pick the leaves off of Stiles clothes. The house in the preserve was no longer the Hale house. The house he'd grown up in, Derek decided, was a burnt out shell of a memory. A memory that he decided he wanted to move on from. The year that the teens graduated from High school he had the remains torn down and trees had been planted over the ashen ground; one for each of his family members. If Peter wiped his eyes when Stiles, Lydia, and Danny urged the saplings to grow with a little magic, no one mentioned it. The new house, the Pack house, was built a quarter of a mile away in a clearing that was in view of a small crystal clear lake. The setting was pristine and on a hill with a view of the town and the woods. 

“Nope," Derek said. “Better.” He grinned as the young man, sweaty, dirt smudged, still covered in leaves, and perfectly Stiles, threw his arms around his shoulders with a laugh. “Surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added another section to this chapter about 10 min after I posted the first bit. sorry!


	11. Bell to your Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s perfect Ally. I’m pretty blown away by it actually.” By the house itself and the fact that he could actually feel the Pack in it. In the timbers and trusses, in the paint colors and the odds and ends scattered about, in the magazines that lay on the table. It was filled to the brim with the warm, strong feelings of their bond. That made it more home than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who didn't catch it, I added a section to the last chapter. if you didn't read it this part might not make much sense.

Derek had wanted the entire pack to be there when they showed Stiles the house. They’d all helped build it over the course of four months and it was something they were all extremely proud of. Werewolves certainly saved on manual labor and Lydia was better than any interior designer. She had taste but she was also practical and she made sure that everyone had input, insuring that once they stepped into the house they felt like they were at home. 

He’d sent a text for everyone to meet at the Pack house when they were within a mile of it and Stiles kept trying to get more details out of them. “When did you guys start building it? Did you seriously let Scott handle power tools? Do I need to worry about structural integrity?”

Derek could feel the young man's excitement and saw it in the way he was practically jumping, hands flying every which way. “I can assure you its sound,” Derek said. Stiles looped his arm around Derek's and Erica fell in at Stiles other side, doing the same. Stiles gave them both a squeeze, grinning.

“I seriously can’t say how thrilled I am you guys. I mean, not only is Derek finally moving away from his bachelor pad days but it's like Beacon Hills has its national landmark back!” 

“The first house wasn’t really a national monument, Stiles,” Derek said, eyebrows quirked in amusement. 

“It was a massive house in the woods,” Scott said, walking at Derek's side. “Trust me Derek, when we were all kids it was cooler than the White House.” 

Derek wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask if they considered the house so important before or after it had gone up in flames but he didn’t get a chance because Stiles was already asking more questions. “Okay, so tell me about security. I know you let Danny go nuts.”

The Alpha nodded in agreement. “Danny and Deaton,” he said. “The basement is for…work use. Three iron holding cells just in case we get any unruly guests and the doors all have deadbolts wired into the alarm system. There is a sub tunnel in the back of the basement that leads out to the lake just down the hill. All the windows are reinforced glass and at least two in each room opens up.”

Erica squeezed Stile’s arm against her bare midriff, blissfully okay with walking around in her bra. “Deaton warded the place up but we though you’d want to take a crack at it too.”

“Oh, definitely,” Stiles replied immediately, amber eyes growing serious for a moment. 

“You can do that glowy line thing like you did in the bedroom,” Isaac added. 

Derek glanced at Stiles. “Glowy line thing?” Scott, who hadn’t been made aware of this mornings antics at the loft, gave him much the same questioning look as the Alpha. Stiles looked a bit sheepish. “A ward. It’s how I knew they were going to dump water on us.” Derek felt himself smile. He hadn’t even noticed the magic which meant it was subtle; something Stiles had not always been so proficient at. 

“Speaking of,” Isaac cut in. “Have you talked to Deaton? He called me earlier this morning and asked me if you were back in town.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and sighed, looking not at all that surprised. “Of course he knows. No, I haven’t talked to him yet. I’ll get around to it tomorrow. First, I need to explore every nook and cranny of the Pack house and get my grove on at the Jungle tonight.”

They all heard Jackson facepalm. “I can’t believe I agreed to tag along.” 

Stiles made a noise at him and Derek slipped his arm free so he could put it around Stiles waist. “There are a few things in particular you’ll like about the house,” Derek said. They were close now. Though it was a few months old he could still smell the fresh paint and cut lumber. 

Stiles was already feeling it even without the heads up: the magic Deaton had already woven into the house and land. He felt it like a buzz under his feet and the moment they stepped over the first barrier Derek cast a glance at Stiles to see if he noticed. He felt Stiles shudder lightly and knew that he had. “Earth magic?” Stiles asked Derek. Druids favored it and Deaton had probably imbued the trees in the area with magic-like alarms. He’d felt something probe at the back of his mind, searching his intentions and finding no ill will so it let him pass, parting easily for him.

Derek was looking at him with equal measures of praise and admiration. “Yeah. He said you’d know what it was.” Stiles just smiled a little secret smile and shrugged. 

They walked for about five more minuets when Isaac and Erica started fidgeting a bit and glancing at Stiles every now and then, barely suppressing grins. Derek was a little disappointed that the entire Pack wasn't here for this but those thoughts vanished as soon as he saw the expression on his Mates face when the house came into view. 

Sunlight streamed through the trees like a spotlight on top of the hillside. A wind chime Erica had hung on the porch sang out its light melody and leaves blanketed the ground like a colorful carpet. In the center of it all was the house. _The_ house. A house to end all houses. It was a classical Victorian with dark paint and trim and a large wrap around porch. From the eves to the pillars supporting the roof above the porch, the attention to detail was visible even from afar.

“So much better than the White House,” Stiles breathed, stepping forward. The look of absolute awe made a warm feeling settle deep in the Alpha’s chest and his wolf puffed up as If saying ‘look what a good provider I am!’

Boyd actually chuckled behind them. “It’s even better inside you know.” 

Erica grabbed Stiles hand and started to drag him. “Come on, come on! You have got to see the kitchen, it’s _amazing!_ ”

Stiles tripped little but laughed as he tried to keep up. “Was that you subtly hinting you want me to cook for you?” Scott shot after the two of the up the hill. Erica used her key to get in and they all let out a relieved breath as the cooler air washed over them. They were all excited to point out their favorite additions, hoping and knowing that Stiles would share their enthusiasm. Derek, surprising all of them, had a gas fireplace added to the living room. Stiles cast a curious glance at the Alpha when he saw it and the older man shrugged softly. Stiles let that conversation go for later. 

They took their time exploring. Peter and Derek had been in charge of the layout and blueprints and though neither of them wanted a copy of the original Hale house they determined it would have to be just as big if they were to have enough space for the entire Pack. 4 floors including a large open attic and a large basement. There were seven bedrooms, two on the main floor, four on the second, and one in the attic. There was more than enough room for multiple beds in each which meant there was always room for anyone who wanted to stay. There were 4 bathrooms and a wide-open kitchen, living room and dining room. Danny proved himself to be a master electrician and took care of internet and cable access, not compromising when he said he knew he and Stiles would want the entire property to be a hotspot. The furnishings were modest and comfortable, darker tones dominating the living room and dining room which led to a sleek and modern kitchen with black cabinetry and granite tops. Allison and Lydia filled the walls with family photos, something that Derek was impressed with as he hadn’t realized that some of the pictures had been taken. Most of them were from the 11 months that Stiles had been gone but there were some of him and the Pack in high school. Derek was determined to fill the bare spaces with pictures of the man Stiles had become. 

When they finally made their way back down to the living room Stiles face was flushed and he smelled so happy that even Jackson couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t as well. “Derek, this place is amazing,” Stiles said, and the wolf didn’t even need to listen to his heartbeat to tell he was being honest. Stiles laced his fingers through the other man’s and gave him a warm content smile, amber eyes softening with unmasked affection. “It's really great.”

Derek leaned his head over and let his forehead rest against the others temple. They were pretty much the same height now so he didn’t have to bend. “After almost 6 years I figure it's time we had a Pack house," he admitted. Laura and Cora had actually visited for a week for the initial groundbreaking and without so much as a word of explanation handed Derek two checks. The life insurance for their family was grossly overwhelming, even split between the four surviving members. Without even having to be asked they all knew what a good chunk of it should go to. Somewhere safe for the new Hale Pack of Beacon Hills. They knew their parents would have approved. 

It was around that time that they heard the other cars pull up and the rest of the pack came barreling in. 

“Did you show him the lake?” Was Allison’s first question as she ran right into Stiles arms, giving him a hug. He let her because they'd all cooled down and the shirtless torsos had managed to find spare clothes in the house. “Do you like it? God, tell me you like it. I got so many splinters carrying wood and I didn’t heal from it in 5 seconds.” She cast a pointed teasing pout at the wolves. 

“I saw it from one of the bedrooms,” Stiles said. “And it’s perfect, Ally. I’m pretty blown away by it actually.” By the house itself and the fact that he could actually feel the Pack in it. In the timbers and trusses, in the paint colors and the odds and ends scattered about, in the magazines that lay on the table. It was filled to the brim with the warm, strong feelings of their bond. That made it more home than anything.

Lydia looked pleased as punch and put her hands on her hips. “I suppose you already noticed the little additions Danny and I added to the mantel around the fireplace and all the door frames.”

Stiles smile softened to a thankful understanding nod. “Fire protection,” he said. “Yeah, I saw the runes.” He recognized the symbols carved artfully into the wooden parts of the house, even on some of the floorboards. He had many of the same symbol inked onto his skin. His eyes found Derek again and he saw the man looking at Lydia with a tender expression, grateful that the members of his Pack had thought this far ahead for his sake. 

Peter walked in a moment later with Ethan and shut the door behind them. “I take it since he's still in the living room that you haven’t show Stiles the most recent addition to the house.”

It was almost creepy how all of them suddenly grinned in unison and Stile’s eyes widened. “Whoa, that was a Children of the Corn moment there guys. Did I miss something?”

Lydia tried to press her lips together but a smile slipped free and she held up her hands. “Derek and Peter can show you. It was their idea.”

Their Emissary looked between the two wolves warily. “You two worked together on something?” he looked to Scott for an answer. “Do I need to be worried?”

“Oh, shut up Stiles,” Peter snapped with clear friendliness as Scott just laughed. “Lead the way, nephew mine.”

Stiles had little choice in the matter when Derek took him by the shoulders and led him down a narrow hallway towards the back of the house that they hadn’t been to yet. At the end was a large oak door. Stiles looked back at his Alpha and raised an eyebrow.

“Close your eyes,” Derek said. Stiles looked at him skeptically and Derek gave the man’s head a little nudge with his own. “It’s the second surprise.” He covered the younger mans eyes with his hands. 

It had started out as them wanting to do some research while Stiles had been away but they’d ended up calling their Emissary with questions anyway, asking him how to translate something, if there was some kind of charm that would cancel the effects of another one, how they could this remove something from that, or how can they could incapacitate one creature without harming another. Stiles had been a little busy but he was never short on book recommendations for their troubles. Reading the kinds of books that Stiles would have loved had he been there made them realize that it was Stiles that would really appreciate them when he returned.

Little by little books were brought to the Pack house. Deaton had brought over ones that he remembered Stiles had favored and ‘borrowed’ on more than one occasion. Peter had his entire collection on the shelves, John and Ethan scoured stores and magic shops around the state and Lydia and Jackson had dominated online auctions for rarer volumes. Stiles would mention something he was reading of Marabeths over the phone and they would find it the next day and add it to the shelves. The sheer amount of literature they’d managed to gather in those 11 months was staggering and when the books started piling on tables and chairs and in stacks on the floor of the house and loft Derek announced that they would be building an addition. The library. The collective knowledge of everything their Pack had been through and survived. Not only was it a gift, it was a monument; a testimony to years of experience.

Leading Stiles in slowly, Derek uncovered his Mate’s eyes as Peter closed the door behind them carefully, letting it creak on its hinges. “Okay, you can look now.”

The darkness was a bit overwhelming at first but then the lights flickered on, drawing a gasp from Stiles. He looked around, eyes wide in wonder and awe as he took in the sheer amount of books he was surrounded by. Books of all sizes, spines cracking with age and use from years of devotion. Stiles could hear their voices like whispers amongst the shelves, aching to share their secrets with a beloved reader. “Oh my god, I’m the Belle to your Beast. You guys just gave me a library.” 

Derek chuckled at the reference and Peter was practically drowning in smug as he watched the young man’s mouth drop when he scanned over some of the volumes on the shelves. The only reaction that had been even mildly close to Stiles had been Lydia’s and she’d devoured everything Peter had collected that was written in French with Allison’s help. But Lydia’s reaction to the books was to learn what would be helpful to her in the moment- at that time Fairy lore. Stiles was a bit different though. Even if he hadn’t been thrust into the supernatural all those years ago, even if he hadn’t found out about his Spark, Werewolves, Fae, the cosmic black whole that was his home town, Stiles would have read these books anyway, eventually. He would have found it all out on his own. 

“Oh my god, you guys,” Stiles repeated, half breathless with excitement as he stepped into the center of the room and looked up, spinning in a slow circle. “I think I’m going to live in here. I can put a cot in here right?” 

Stiles craved knowledge and that was why he was Peter’s favorite.


	12. Dress up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles let himself be man-handled into the bathrooms by Erica and Allison who damn near got into the shower with him, and Danny and Lydia snatched him up soon after for about seven wardrobe changes.

Derek had to leave for work around 8pm and he’d never considered calling in sick more than he had that moment. The thought of being away from his Mate again, even on the other side of town, was enough to make his wolf scratch at his insides in irritation. He dragged himself away from the reading couch he and Stiles camped out on in Stiles new favorite spot in the house and said goodbye to everyone before he left. “Danny, call me if you have any issues at the club,” he said, remembering how Stiles had reacted to news of the new owners. “Any.”

Danny's expression turned stern at the order. “We’ll look out for him Derek.”

“Damn right,” Erica said, flashing her eyes impishly. “We’ll keep all the grabby hands away from that pert little ass of his.” 

Derek balked a little and Lydia sighed, placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder and leading him to the front door. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll handle anything that comes up but we’ll call you if anything happens. Go to work now like a good Deputy or the Sheriff will think you’re slacking.”

Derek reluctantly left after that, wondering if maybe he should stop by the Jungle on patrol tonight. Because he was a responsible officer of the law. 

Time seemed to fly as all of them cleaned up and got changed. It seemed that they all had spare clothes at the house, stored away in their rooms which Stiles knew were being well used. The Pack had been spending nights there ever since the plumbing was turned on. Each room already carried their scents. 

The girls took about 40 minuets each with hair and another hour on clothes. True to her word Erica brought out her new dress; a barely legal thing with a slit up the thigh. Alison and Lydia covered up a bit more but the ladies sure knew how to work leather and floral patterns. The men took almost as long but only because the girls intervened, insisting that they could not wear that shirt with those pants and no Scott, one did not wear a tie to a Rave night. 

Once everyone was properly dressed, wearing things that would allow optimum access for neon body paint, Danny looked at the clock on the wall and then back at the rest of them. “Okay. We’ve got an hour and a half before we leave. Erica, Allison, you’re in charge of the bathroom,” he said. Both girls nodded, determined sets to their mouths. “Lydia and I will handle clothes and hair.”

“Boys,” Lydia said to the others. “Sit.” The betas did as the Banshee bid. 

“Ready?” Allison asked. 

They all glanced at the door to the library and Danny took a breath, motioning with his hand. “Move out troops.” 

Inside the library, curled up in the same spot Derek had left him, Stiles had a stack of books at his side with notes already sticking out of them and an even bigger stack to the other side. The Must Read Next pile. As much as Danny and the others were pleased that Stiles appreciated their book gathering skills he was worried that he really would hole up in there like a hermit. So he and Lydia braved the wrath of their book engrossed Emissary and pulled him out, demanding that if he wasn’t going to get ready himself, they would have to do it for him. 

Stiles let himself be man-handled into the bathrooms by Erica and Allison who damn near got into the shower with him, and Danny and Lydia snatched him up soon after for about seven wardrobe changes. They didn’t have any of his clothes here so Danny threw a pile of his own at the other. Surprisingly they were pretty much the same size now and Danny had to take a moment to admire how the tighter clothing now fit the young man. The fourth pair of pants Stiles had tried on were black, tight and rode so low on his hips he was seriously afraid to sit down. They were tighter than he preferred but not as tight as some of the clothes he’d been forced into back in New York. Damn Carla and Jordan. Stiles turned his back to the other two and stripped off the thin shirt. 

Stiles was startled by the high pitched noise Lydia made and turned, shirt covering his chest. “Holy crap Lydia, what?”

Danny was shaking his head. “Someone went from benchwarmer to badass real quick.” They’d only seen his back and arms but each line of tattoo was a very pale brown that would have gone unnoticed had Stiles not been so pale himself. “You sure Deaton wont have a cow, his protégé being all magically inked up?”

Stiles barely had to bite back the retort that he’d just been trying to stay alive in high school long enough to get a diploma and that the Druid could have two cows for all he cared. “Deaton wasn’t the one teaching me about these so I think I’ve graduated from protégé.” Stiles said as he hurried to tug on something to cover himself up. “And it was really more of an unpaid internship.”

“Don't be like that,” Lydia chided. “He was teaching you back in high school and in turn us. You barely even called to say 'hi' to the man while you were away. He might have had a thing or two to say about the tattoos."

Stiles rolled his eyes and finally snatched up a black long sleeved shirt before either of them could protest. “I was busy learning what he refused to teach me.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice that neither Lydia nor Danny commented on. Stiles straightened the tight shirt and spread his arms, grinning at the two of them. “Admit it. You’re all jealous of my awesome.” The redhead’s critical eye scanned him up and down and with a raised eyebrow she nodded. 

Stiles grin grew even wider and he was about to do a fist pump but Danny intervened. “Not bad for your first night back,” he scoffed, already having his fingers comb through Stiles still damp hair, pushing it back away from his face while the man made a noise of protest. “Next time I want some skin though.” The tattoos really suited the Emissary and in Danny’s opinion, if you had it, flaunt it. Those 11 months had indeed been good to Stiles, and those earrings? Yea, they’d be a hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought i posted this little chapter last night but I fell asleep....


	13. New friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The woman’s eyes sparkled with interest and she continued. “Oh, come on, you have to tell me now. Magic user right? Like Danny and Miss Martin here?” The two of them shifted a bit on either side of Stiles. “You smell Human enough, so maybe a Hunter like Argent?” Allison just gave her a small tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Or maybe you’re waiting to get the Bite from your Alpha-“ the Vampire cut herself off when Isaac outright growled at her and Ethan had to give his back a small shove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Stiles mystery abilities! 
> 
> Chapters should be getting a little longer now or I'll post two at a time.

The club was absolutely packed and anyone else would have though that there was either a sale on uv contacts close by or that they were going mad. Stiles caught flashes of glowing eyes everywhere; blue, yellow, purple, green, some with double eyelids, some with diamond pupils. Some of them had fangs, one lady had gills, a man had reptilian stripes on his shoulders, and someone had natural black nails and a forked tongue. A prehensile tail or two even groped him but a growl from one of the wolves when they saw had the anonymous Fae backing off.

“You weren’t kidding when you said Beacon hills population went supernatural,” Stiles said appreciatively, leaning closer to Scott so they could hear each other. The wolves had earplugs in or they probably would have gone crazy.

Scott nodded, watching as Allison and Erica went to get drinks from a platinum blond bartender. They stopped to exchange hellos with a tall, lanky man with gaunt features and blue swirls of paint all over his bare back in the shape of wings that were nowhere near as intricate as his real ones he had pressed tight like a second skin. “Yeah. A little while after you left they just started pouring in. It was crazy. They came from all over the country and we’ve even got a few from somewhere in Europe. They’re on the swim team at the high school. Some type of Mermaid I think.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up at the mention of Mermaids and Danny added quickly “Rusalka. Don’t worry they’re harmless. We told them that if anyone died in the pool they’d be the first ones we spoke to.”

“Awesome,” Stiles said with an approving nod. “And how has my dad been coping with the whole influx of weird?” The pleasantries they’d exchanged the night before had been hurried and smothered in hugs.

“Derek and Ethan watch his back,” Scott assured his friend. In fact, since the two of them got hired on at the station they’d pretty much assured that the Pack had eyes everywhere in town. Paws in the proverbial cookie jar. It was very rare that anyone messed with the Sheriff knowing that he was an honorary member of Derek’s Pack. If anything, John liked to exploit that and would threaten to sick a wolf on someone if they didn’t listen to him. It worked after the first time he’d actually gone through with it.

“What about you,” Jackson said, leaning on the table. “Do we ever get to hear what you did in New York? Apart from spend all your time at a tattoo parlor.”

Stiles let out dry sarcastic laugh as the lights flashed above them. “For your information Werelizard I got these tattoos in one day and I was working. New York has just as many supernatural baddies as Beacon Hills and they don’t even have a World Tree.”

“Did you learn new spells?” Scott asked, truly interested like a best friend should be. “Ooh, dude, can you turn invisible yet?”

Danny and Stiles laughed and if Lydia where there she would have contributed an eye roll. “Man, it’s adorable that you still think I’m Harry Potter” Stiles said. “No Scott, I will not be turning invisible. Though I can mask my scent entirely now, and I can control my heart rate.”

Scott looked surprised. “So we won’t be able to tell if you’re lying?” He didn’t know whether to be pleased or disheartened by it. Stiles had always been a good liar and Scott had sort of come to rely on his heartbeat giving him away. Derek was usually the one who could tell most of the time.

“Prove it,” Jackson said.

Stiles looked right at him and smiled. “You were not a huge douche bag in high school.” There was no stutter in his heartbeat and Scott let out an impressed whistle while Danny hid a smile behind his hand. Best friend or not, if the shoe fit.

“Drinks!” Erica sang as she sauntered back to the table with a waitress trailing behind her bearing a tray full of drinks that either smoked or glowed in the dark.

“Surprises for all of you,” The waitress said as she and Erica doled out the drinks, but when she came to Scott she winked and said, “A virgin surprise for you sweetheart.”

The 20-year-old werewolf frowned as he took a sip. “Come on, I’m almost 21.”

“And and werewolf,” Stiles added as he took a sip of his drink. He nearly spat it out. “Whoa, wolfsbane?”

The waitress glanced at Erica and Allison unsurely. “Sorry? I Just assumed….”

Danny shook her head at her, “He’s like me Jenny, don’t worry.”

The waitress looked relieved and smiled. “Oh, sorry about that hun. Want me to bring you a regular drink?”

Stiles shook his head and took another sip, much to everyone else’s surprise. “Nah, I’m good with this one.” The waitress gave him a curious look before excusing herself.

Allison leaned her elbows on the table, twirling her straw between her fingers. “So, you make a habit of drinking wolfy drinks now, Mr. Emissary?”

Stiles shrugged a little. “Not really. Never hurts to have a little something extra running through the system though.” Danny really looked like he wanted to continue with this line of questioning but was prevented from it by Scott who tried to steal Erica’s drink only to get his hand smacked.

“Bad Scott,” Erica scolded. “Last time we let you drink you snuck into the Sheriff’s house, gathered all the shoes you could find, hid them under Stiles’ bed and passed out there.” Stiles burst out laughing. Yeah, his dad had called him after that one. Scott nursed his virgin drink with a pout.

“Only 8 more months dude!” Stiles attempted to cheer him up, pouring some of his drink into Scott’s glass while the girls weren’t looking. Scott beamed like he’d been given the moon. Despite a gift in the mail and an hour-long Skype sessions Scott was a little put off that Stiles had been across the country by the time birthdays rolled around. Everyone was put out that Stiles spent his 21st alone in New York, Derek in particular because he knew that his Mate was going to be heavily inebriated and probably practicing magic for fun. The combination was enough to terrify him.

About ten minutes into the night Stiles felt like a creeper the way he was people watching. It sort of felt like he was back in the city working and not back home trying to relax. Lady Marabeth had told him that working with her and the rest of the gang would change him but he didn’t really believe it till now. He half expected someone to start screaming or at least an explosion of some kind because that’s what he was used to.

“Oh, Stiles, that’s Isabella,” Isaac pointed out, motioning to a brunette sitting at the bar taking to the bartender. Even from behind one could tell she was a knockout and she had one or two admirers from a far shifting their gazes over her face and body. “She’s the Second in her Nest. They're the ones who bought The Jungle from the previous owner.” Stiles pulled his eyes away from an Ellylldan- a fire fairy who was alternating a pale little blue ball of flame up and down her arms as she danced- and he fixed his eyes on the Vampiress.

“Stiles,” Allison said as softly as she could in the din. “Your eyes are purple!”

Stiles didn’t look away from the woman as he nodded in affirmation. “Yup.” The pale violet his amber eyes flashed to disappeared just as Isabella sat straight and turned in her chair. As soon as her eyes fixed on Stiles they glowed an icy neon blue. She cocked her head to the side curiously and stood from her stool with a single graceful motion.

“Did you use the Force or something?” Isaac asked in awe as she started to walk over to them. Stiles just snorted.

Isabella wasn’t painted up but her tight orange dress glowed under the backlights. Her teeth were bright white, sharp and lethal as she smiled at them when she got closer. “Hello kids," she purred. "Jenny mentioned you were here tonight.” Her eyes scanned over Stiles while she addressed the Pack. “And you’ve brought some fresh blood with you?” Isaac tensed a little and cast a glance at the man but Stiles didn’t react.

Erica nudged her hip against the Vampire’s playfully. “Hi-ya Issy. “ She made a motion to Stiles. “This is Stiles, John’s son. He’s First generation.”

Stiles blinked at the blonde. “First what?”

“First generation weirdness,” Danny supplied. “You know; here for the start of it all.” He made air quoted with his hands and rolled his eyes.

“Ah,” Stiles nodded.

Isabella gave an appreciative trill in the back of her throat, one eyebrow raised. “I’m sure you’ve got some stories to tell.” She held out her hand to him in such a delicate and careful manner that it wouldn’t have been startling had she sprouted claws. “It’s nice to meet you, Stiles. Any friend of the Pack is a friend to me and mine.”

Stiles nodded and shook her hand. Only Lydia noticed that the tattoos on his palms faded before their skin made contact. “Isabella,” Stiles repeated, looking her over and studying her face in particular. “And your Sister is Charlotte. Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Reichen would it?” This garnered a curious look from the wolves.

Isabella however looked surprised and placed a manicured hand on her hip. “It is.”

Stiles smile brightened a little. “I knew your Sister back in New York. You take after her.”

The reaction from the Pack was pretty much unanimous. “You did?” Danny asked, startled, instantly thinking back to the Vampires Stiles mentioned as not being so friendly. He looked back at Isabella. “She does?” clearly he thought differently.

Attention fully on Stiles now Isabella leaned her elbows on the table comfortable with the close distance and the generous amount of cleavage she was showing off. “Did you now." she asked with a slow smile. "Where did you two meet?”

“Yes Stiles, where _did_ you two meet?” Allison clipped, wondering just how in the hell their Emissary got around so fast. The Huntress wasn’t used to being out of the loop.

“Work,” Stiles replied. He set his drink down on the table again just in time to see Lydia come up to his left opposite of Danny and put a hand on his shoulder, giving a small squeeze.

“Hello Isabella, dear,” the redhead smiled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Decent turnout tonight.” Ethan took his place like a linebacker behind them and Stiles couldn’t help but smile a little when he realized what they were doing. The Pack had pretty much surrounded him from behind forming a hell of a line of defense though they looked as relaxed as ever. So good to be home.

Isabella must have sensed it too and she let her posture relax even more to put the wolves at ease. “Rave Nights are always good. I was just asking Stiles here where he’d met –oh, look!” She waved to someone over their shoulders, straightening to make herself taller. “There she is. Char! Come over here!” She called over the noise.

All of them turned to look at a black haired goddess sauntering through the crowd like the people were made of water and she a shark parting them. She had a cool expression, blood red lips, and looked almost nothing like Isabella. The only part of her that glowed were the whites of her eyes and a diamond necklace on her bare throat. When she heard Isabelle calling and caught sight of them she gave a polite nod. 

Then her eyes landed on Stiles who waved at her with a cheesy grin and said, “Hey, Spitfire.” Scott let the straw drop from his mouth

Charlottes' face literally brightened with a smile as her teeth glowed under the black lights. “Oh my god!” She let out a squeal and Charlotte ran forward through the remaining dancers, stopping just short of knocking into Lydia who had the good sense to get out of the way before the woman lunged and flung her arms around Stiles. “Gambit, why didn’t you tell me you’d be in town!? When did you leave the city? Did you call Carla yet?”

Stiles grinned as he returned the hug like she was an old friend. At least that’s what it looked like to the rest of them. “I haven’t called her yet but wait till I tell the rest of the guys you bought a gay bar. Marabeth might seriously die laughing.”

“Wait, wait,” Scott said, trying to wrap his head around a situation that had really gotten away from him. “The rest of the guys? Who’s Carla?”

 _“Gambit?”_ Erica needled with a narrowed eye. “Batman, you traitor.”

Charlotte laughed lightly and let go of Stiles though her fingers trailed pointedly over his forearm. “Sorry, you’ll have to pardon my enthusiasm. Stiles helped me out in New York with a Nest that was….well, let’s just say they took the whole ‘creatures of the night’ thing to a waaay darker place than necessary. I actually got the idea to come here from him.”

“Hold on,” Lydia demanded, raising a hand up so that everyone looked at her. “Back in September? Charlotte, were you there when Stiles got bit on the arm?” Her tone was dark and her green eyes fierce as she stared the Vampiress down.

Charlotte made a placating gesture at the Banshee. “Don’t get in a twist, darling. I would never bite anyone against their will, let alone Stiles.”

"But you were involved," Lydia persisted, eyes narrowing.

"Lyd's calm down," soothed Stiles, bumping her side lightly with his shoulder. "It was someone from another Nest that was hassling her."

"Harassing, stalking," Isabella muttered with a shrug. "Being general creepy psycos."

That seemed to agitate the redhead even more apparently and she opened her mouth to continue but Ethan placed a hand on her shoulder and she shut her mouth with a frown, grabbing one of the drinks off the table and taking a large swallow. The silence spread, drown out by the pulsating beat of the music and loud voices around them

“Jeeze, Stilinski,” Jackson said, breaking the tension with a light tone. “Do we have to worry about personal grudges moving to Beacon Hill’s to get a crack at you?”

Instead of diffusing the tension further by laughing, Stiles, as was becoming a habit when everyone already knew the answer to the question, remained silent and looked off to the side. 

“…Well, shit,” Jackson muttered.

Scott finally managed to steal Erica’s drink, unaffected by the mood. “More the merrier," he said, toasting the glass against Danny's while the man wasn't looking. The rest of the Pack seemed unconcerned with it and Isabella walked around the table to stand by her Sister. “So, what were you doing in New York, Stiles?" The brunette asked. "You mentioned Lady Marabeth. Are you a Wyzard? Maybe a Hedge Witch like her?” 

Most of them shifted in their seats at the direct question with the exception of Charolett and Stiles who just went still, and Lydia who still looked a little pissed. To those who knew enough about the supernatural world and its rules it was considered a little rude to outright ask what someone was. Their world was secretive for a reason and one did not go blabbing about what they were or could do to just anyone, especially in a Haven. Exposing your strengths also exposed your weaknesses. 

“Isabella,” Charlotte interjected, trying to put a damper on the glint of interest in the younger woman's eye. “That’s not an appropriate question to ask someone you just met. Besides, we don’t give members of the Hale Pack the third degree.”

Isabella just grinned at them. “So you _are_ part of the Pack. Oh, come on, you _have_ to tell me now. Magic user right? Like Danny and Miss Martin here?” The two humans shifted a bit on either side of Stiles. “You _smell_ human enough so maybe you're a Hunter like Argent? To be able to fight off a Vampire you have to have some kind of training.” Allison just gave her a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Or maybe you’re human and you're just waiting to get the Bite from your Alpha-“ The Vampiress cut herself off when Isaac outright growled at her and Ethan had to give his back a small shove to keep him in check.

Charlotte put a hand on Isabella’s shoulder and her eyes flashed an icy blue. The brunette fell silent instantly, lips locked tight. “Go do a walk through of the guests, Isabella,” Charlotte ordered in a light tone. Isabella tipped her head like wolves do as a sign of submission but instead of to the side she tilted her face upwards, baring her throat to her First. Embarrassed, she nodded to the rest of them excused herself.

Charlotte let out a little sigh once she was gone. “I apologize for my Sister," she said. "Isabella has always been overly curious and she is still young but she should have been more respectful."

Stiles gave Isaac's knee a pat and shook his head at the woman's apology. “It’s fine. I just want to keep a low profile for now.”

“So mum's the word on you if anyone asks?” Charlotte inquired, arching her brow over a calculating gaze.

“For now,” Stiles replied.

The dark haired Vampiress just smirked a knowing smirk. “Wonder how long that will last.”


	14. Twerking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny smiled at the expression on Jackson’s face. “His hips don’t lie man,” he ribbed as he pulled out his phone and started to record a little teaser for Derek to keep him entertained on patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after what I will assume was a bout of laryngitis/strep/cold/evil satan spawn cough of death for the last week or so, here is my tiny chapter update.

After Charlotte left them there was a beat of two of silence while they just listened to the music, all nine of them sipping from their respective glasses and not making eye contact. “Okay, I’ll say it. That was weird.”

“Okay, I’ll say it," Ethan blurted out. "That was weird.”

“Right?” Scott agreed excitedly. “Stiles, do you know anyone else from New York here?”

“How did you help Charlotte with a Nest of Vampires that even _she_ considered sketchy?” Jackson asked, earning a dark look from Lydia.

“What the hell is with Gambit and Spitfire?”

Stiles answered Ericas' question first much to the others irritation. “Because of the whole Vampire thing -her idea not mine, I swear- and Gambit because… well…” He held up one of his hands and fanned his fingers. Runes on each one flared to life etched onto each digit like rings. “Let’s just say I made some stuff blow up and it was either him or Jubilee.”

Lydia rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head while Scott gave Stiles glowing hand and experimental high five as though he thought something would happen. “Who thought it was a good idea for you to have the ability to make things explode,” asked the Molotov-wielding Banshee.

Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Stiles himself raised their hands. Boyd, who’d remained a stony pillar of silence throughout this whole thing finally spoke up. “I for one would like some demonstrations at training tomorrow,” he said.

Scott nodded eagerly, invisible tail wagging behind him. “I’ll bring a deck of paying cards, Gambit.”

Erica let out peels of laughter and Lydia decided she was done with everything and threw up her hands with a huff. “Nerds. Surrounded by nerds. Ethan, we’re going to dance. I expect every one of you out there in no more than 5 minutes.” And she left with a haughty flip of her hair, Ethan trailing behind after receiving a sympathetic look from Danny.

“Okay,” Isaac returned his attention to Stiles. “So, you said Isabella takes after her sister. They don’t look _anything_ like each other.”

"Except being ridiculously hot," Scott pointed out.

Stiles reached over and snatched the lime right out of Scott’s glass. “Not sisters; _Sisters._ ” He clarified. Isaac gave him a blank look and he went on. “Vampires like to put a small physical mark on the members of their Nest, like an ID. Everyone in Charlotte's has a small scar under their left eye.”

“I've never heard of that,” Allison admitted.

“Vampires have been doing it for years. It's more to do with  politics than anything else,” Stiles replied. "If they are an old enough Nest other Vampires can tell who you belong to based off of the marking. And to be fair Charlotte told me that tidbit when we were in New York so I' not sure if many Hunters know about it."

The song changed to a lighter beat, charging the air with a faster tempo that ensured feet remain on the floor for no more than three seconds. Danny laughed at a group of bouncing girls who waved at him in unison. “Sirens,” Danny said to Stiles when he caught the disbelieving look thrown his way. “Calm down, I haven’t gone straight.” The flashing lights above changed colors and speeds alternately and Stiles knew by the time they left that they’d all look like they’d been swimming in glitter and the paint designs would look more like smears. About three minutes of Lydia’s allotted time passed and Stiles made off hand comment about how dancing these days was essentially sex in public. When in the hell did twerking become a thing? It was obnoxious. Jackson then made the comment that even though Stiles was aware of the term he didn’t have to worry about doing any sort of down and dirty move on the dance floor because none of them wanted to make a hospital run that night.

“I can totally dance,” Stiles insisted, giving Jackson a shove.

“You mean flail?” the other jeered.

“Actually he’s pretty good,” Danny said, stirring his drink a bit with the straw. Lydia had totally shared that Coney Island video with him.

Stiles made a motion with his hands. “Thank you, Danny. Drag Queens in New York are hardly as forgiving as the ones here so I had to up my game or they would have stabbed me with their stilettos.” He then motioned to Erica, who was sipping on something that almost glowed neon yellow and had three kinds of fruit in it. It was her third one. “Catwoman, you’ve seen me on the floor, back me up.”

Jackson just snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Yeah after you face planted on it. You may be all magic and shit now man, but you are still Stilinski and you trip over air.” Erica only snorted at that in a very ladylike manner and swayed in her chair till Boyd reached out and steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hah!” Stiles scoffed, pride not caring to be pricked by either of the snarky wolves. Isaac practically fell off his chair when Stiles grabbed him and dragged him out on the dance floor. He also caught Allison who was coming back from the bathroom and pulled her out for good measure as well.

Danny chuckled, stirring the ice in his glass with the straw. “Seriously Jackson, you know he’s not a spaz all the time. I mean, look at that,” he motioned out to the dance floor where the thrum from the low base beat was making the bodies pulse in unison. Relaxed limbs smeared with paint, glitter, and sweat slid and rubbed together, hands on hips and backs, wandering over thighs and shoulders. Lights filtered over Allison, Isaac, and Stiles, not a flailing or uncontrolled movement in sight, swinging and swaying and jumping to the beat like they’d rehearsed it. Twerking be damned, that was practically sex standing up. Lydia, Ethan, and the stranger they were dancing with took this as a personal challenge and worked in closer to them. Danny smiled at the gobsmacked expression on Jackson’s face. “His hips don’t lie man,” he ribbed as he pulled out his phone and started to record a little teaser for Derek to keep him entertained on patrol.

Erica hiccuped a little and let out a giggle. “I wish they’d lie on me for a little bit.”

“Oh my god Erica, sensor yourself!” Having heard the last bit as he came to the table with some more drinks, Scott looked thoroughly grossed out.

“Pshh, why?” She asked, flapping a hand at the man. “You’re bro really grew into those shoulders. And legs. And abs. I’m going to mention those pianist fingers because _damn And arms- good lord have you _seen_ the way those tattoos just melt over every little dip and curve and-,”_

“Eww, Erica!” Scott made a truly disgusted face, clapping his hands over his ears. “You are not getting a lady boner for my best friend!”

Erica almost doubled over with laughter and Jackson just shook his head, pulling his attention away from the other pack members grinding against each other on the dance floor. Stiles and Isaac were dipping Lydia low, her back arched and head tilted back as she let out a gleeful laugh. Their tight knit group was already drawing attention from the other dancers and from behind the bar one of the waitresses was catcalling, spinning her bar towel in the air while a long blue tail continued to pour drinks behind her.

Jackson shook his head at Danny who was giving him a raised eyebrow and motioning to the dance floor. “Nope,” Jackson said stubbornly, picking up his drink again. “Stiles is still Stiles and he is the guy who can barely run through the woods 20 feet without getting a face-full of tree. It’s engrained.”

Danny had a knowing look in his eye as he glanced away from the dance floor long enough that he could look at his best friend. “I don’t know man. If he weren’t already dating werewolf Adonis I’d let him climb me like a tree.”

Jackson’s scotch went up his nose.

\--

Outside the club about a block away was where Derek had parked his squad car. He sat there with his fingers drumming the steering wheel while his eyes bore holes into the building. He’d been sitting there for almost ten minutes now, trying in vain to catch inklings of his Mates voice amongst the music and crowd. To say it was difficult was an understatement but he swore he heard a familiar laugh every now and then. When he'd been considering making up a noise complaint just to have the excuse to go inside and flash his badge his radio buzzed to life by his knee. _“Deputy Hale, do you copy?”_

Derek recognized the voice and winced a little as he picked up. “Yeah, I copy, Sheriff.”

 _“Want to tell me why you’ve been parked outside the Jungle for the last ten minutes?"_ The Sheriff asked. _"There better be a robbery going on. God, what I wouldn’t give for a normal robbery….”_ The last part was muttered mostly to himself.

“No robbery,” Derek said sympathetically, keeping his eyes on the flashing lights bursting out from the warehouse windows. “It’s Rave night.”

 _“Dead body?”_ The Sheriff asked, already sounding like he had the paperwork ready. "Crap, do we have another Kanima debacle? Is that Goblin back in the pipework again?

Derek leaned back in his seat a bit. “No, the Packs in there. It was decided that your son needed to get drunk and party on his second night back.” He tried not to let the hint of bitter seep into his voice. He would have loved to be in there drinking with the rest of them and keeping Stiles away from pesky Vampires. And Fae. And humans.

_“…Danny’s idea right?”_

The werewolf found himself sighing again. “I told them to call if anything happens.”

A small edge was in the older mans voice when he spoke next. _“Stiles knows about Charlotte and her friends right?”_ He’d heard that his son had some dealings with that particular brand of creature more than once in New York.

“We told him,” Derek said quickly. “He seemed okay with it after we told him they weren’t a threat.” He also wanted to say that he thought Stiles could handle himself but there was no way he could honestly back that up. Yes, Stiles was different but he hadn’t seen anything yet that could substantiate that claim. He was different, but he was the same Stiles.

The Sherif made a noise and some papers rustled making Derek think that the older man was back at the station in his office. _“Well, if last week was anything to go by I’m assuming that there will be a pile of drunken wolves at one of our houses tonight.”_ Derek let out a small snort. Ever since the supernatural had been outed in Beacon Hills the bars had changed their menus. Wolfsbane, ambrosia, and nectar-laced drinks had become pretty common-place, assuring that everyone had a good time. John continued, _“Parish has been asking to pick up some shifts before his vacation so why don’t you do one more hour of patrol and then switch with him. You can knock off an hour early.”_

Derek’s mood instantly lifted and he shifted in his seat. “You sure?” His wolf was already spinning in circles at the thought of being able to see his Mate an hour sooner, inebriated or not.

 _“Don’t sound too depressed now,”_ John kidded. _“But I want to see you actually patrolling in that hour. We put trackers in the cruisers for exactly this reason deputy.”_

Derek couldn’t resist. “To keep Werewolf’s from stalking your son at a Vampire owned gay bar?”

The Sheriff was silent for a moment. _“Or something very similar, yes. Drive.”_

“Can I hang around five more minutes?” Derek chanced. “You know, just in case.”

 _“My god, Stiles was right. You really are a creeperwolf,”_ was the Sheriffs reply. _“Hale, I better see that blinking light on my computer moving in the next five seconds or your on the late shift for the rest of the week.”_

Derek smiled and shifted gears. “Heading out, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fixed a few typos 7.10.14. >.> damn my lack of betas.
> 
> and then i fixed more typos. 7.11.14


	15. Hangovers are inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles didn’t seem to mind at all though and he leaned his back into Derek’s chest while the man’s chin rested on his shoulder. Derek couldn’t help but press his lips at teeth against the Stiles neck when he tipped his head back, feeling the pulse beneath the thin skin. “….You sort of taste like glitter,” Derek muttered.

Massive didn’t even begin to cover just how big Stiles’ hangover was when he woke up the next morning. Charlotte ended up covering all their drinks for the night (a huge mistake on her part if the amount of alcohol consumed by four humans and six werewolves was anything to go by) and Isabella managed to keep herself busy enough that she didn’t come to talk to them again. Her Sister’s evil eye on her whenever she wandered too close probably helped too. They’d all gone back to the Pack house around 2am, Lydia and Jackson being the only ones sober enough to drive. Stiles was pretty sure he remembered Scott hanging half way out the window of Danny’s car the entire ride back either because he liked the wind in his face or he was going to be sick. It was safe to say they probably inhaled as much glitter as they wore and they all left with less clothing than they started with. It was a hell of a night. 

 

Stiles woke up to a soft groan to his left and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter against whatever window was letting in a steady stream of sunlight. 

“Oh my god why is there paper in my bra…?” Erica’s voice was soft and high. Had she really being doing karaoke last night? Stiles couldn’t remember there being karaoke at Rave night before. He remembered Erica’s tone deaf chorus though. 

Stiles rolled away from the noise, keeping his eyes shut and hugging something soft that he was fairly certain he’d been hugging all night.

“They got numbers on them,” came an even softer voice. Isaac sounded like he’d shoved a pillow over his head or had successfully managed to burry it in the floor. Stiles felt something shift against his thigh and vaguely recognized it as a foot. 

“Where did my shirt go?” That was Danny.

“You had a shirt?” Ethan.

There was more rustling as someone sat up and Stiles left leg was pushed off. “Someone better remember where I left my shoe.” Lydia of course.

“Behind the bar I think,” came Allison’s reply from somewhere near his feet. She was the only one who’d remember a missing shoe. 

Since Scott was the only one who hadn’t spoken up yet Stiles assumed that’s whom he was hugging. Whatever. Man cuddles. He felt a rumbling against his chest and Scott shifted and yawned loudly, stretching his arms and making Stiles loosen his grip a bit. “Stiles, all your glitter rubbed off on me,” Scott wined. From somewhere behind him. 

Awareness suddenly flooded his foggy brain as best it could and Stiles cracked one eye open. Everything was blurry but he saw a familiar dark mass in front of him, or at least the back of a head. “….You’re not Scott,” he blurted out dumbly. 

“It would seem not,” Boyd said casually as he looked over his shoulder at their Emissary. 

Stiles felt the implied laughter from the others that they just couldn’t muster lest their heads explode. So he just lay there for a moment more and then finally said, “How in the hell did you get to be the little spoon?” He wasn’t complaining or anything; Boyd was warm, but the man had a good head and a half on him and he was still built like a brick house. He figured even in a drunken state he would have been smothered into being the little spoon in this cutlery relationship. 

Stiles felt another nudge at his leg; the foot again, and Scott demanded. “Coffee.” 

“Sounds good,” Stiles shot right back, letting his forehead thump against Boyd’s back. 

“Ugg, stop shouting,” Isaac whispered. 

Some fabric rustled and Erica made a tiny noise. “Oh, gross, I found a phone number in my panties…”

“You're so classy, Reyes,” Lydia sighed.

"Prude," Erica growled. The two women had a sweet relationship. 

"Slut," Lydia yawned.

“Oh my god, no more screaming…” Isaac said thinly. 

It was quiet again for a few minuets as everyone either agreed with Isaac or had drifted off to sleep again but then Stiles felt another nudge on his leg, even stronger now. “Stiles,” Scott groaned. “You’ll be my best friend if you make me coffee.”

Sponging bastard. “Danny,” Stiles sighed, flapping his hand in what he hopped was Danny’s direction. “Go be Scotts best friend.”

“Bite me, Stiles.” Danny was made of sunshine. 

“Think Derek will let us out of training today?” Allison murmured. 

"Did he last time?" Boyd asked with a groan as he shifted again. 

"Oh please," Erica sighed. "S'not like you had to suffer with us. You were moving stuff to Montana." 

"Stiles, Coffffeeeeeee."

"Mountain Aaaaash," Stiles threatened lightly. Silence fell again as they all continued to wake up slowly, aided by what sounded like screaming and loud whistling outside. You know. Birds chirping. 

Erica spoke up again after a few more shifting noises from her general direction. “I’ll forgive you for the whole Gambit thing if you make it, Batman.”

“Don’t be a slut Catwoman,” Stiles muttered. Erica kicked him in the leg and Stiles groaned as he laughed. 

Lydia's voice was slowly loosing its groggy slur and now took on a migraine induced edge. “Someone better make something or I’ll get some more of that itching powder from Deaton and none of you will be able to sit still for a week.” The mention of Deaton had Stiles sighing for a whole new reason as he remembered all the stuff he had planned for himself today. A massive hangover was not one of them. The nagging for caffeine and the sudden realization that he’d actually have to be face to face with his former Druidic teacher in a matter of hours did a great deal to sober him up. Stiles finally unwrapped himself from Boyd and pushed himself into a sitting position with a grunt. He glanced around quickly and noticed that they were all sprawled out of the floor of the living room with blankets strewn around -courtesy of Derek most likely, god bless that man. Limbs everywhere. “Okay,” Stiles said after taking a breath. “I need a smoke.”

That had Erica sitting straight up like a spring was attached to her back, blond hair flying wild and she stared at Stiles with mascara raccoon eyes. “I knew it!” she declared loud enough that Isaac whined and Lydia threw a pillow at the back of her head.

Scott, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and smearing the orange and yellow paint even more, frowned. “You serious man?” he asked. 

A gruff voice from the kitchen doorway got their attention. “I thought you smelled like smoke when we picked you up at Barry’s.” They all turned or cracked open their eyes to look at Derek who, honest to god, looked like he was doing his best not to smile at the sight of them all piled on the rug, glittery, paint and makeup smeared with bed hair a mile high. It helped that he could frown thanks to the current conversation topic. 

Stiles sighed again and pushed some legs away and off of him so he could get to his feet slowly and carefully. “Down with the judgey eyebrows,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It’s not like I quit Aderall cold turkey.” That wasn’t entirely the reason but it wasn’t a lie either. It took the edge off. He was surprised he’d lasted this long without one actually considering he'd been interrupted by the creature trying to claw his face off last time he'd tried to light up. 

“But it's so gross,” Scott insisted, making a face.

“If it helps I roll my own,” Stiles offered as he stretched now that he was standing. “Mostly herbs, no nicotine.”

“Pot?” Isaac ventured quietly with a raised brow. 

“Herbs,” Stiles repeated slowly, throwing the blonde a look. His head was throbbing and the air felt heavy, like it was begging him to lie back down on the floor. How much had he drank again? And what the hell was in that neon orange thing Erica hand practically poured down his throat? He took a slow breath and rubbed his temples, closing his eyes where he stood, steeling himself to take the first step towards the door. 

He lost track of how long he’d been standing there by the time Derek walked over to him and placed his hands on either side of Stiles head. Honey amber eyes met hazel green ones and slowly the pounding in his forehead turned to a dull throb. “Just promise you’ll go easy on them,” Derek said softly, a rumble in the back of his throat that couldn’t really be differentiated between a growl and a purr. 

Stiles felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t you join the puppy pile last night?” He asked, changing the subject. 

Derek raised an eyebrow in his trademark ‘really?’ expression as he continued to draw a way some pain before he lowered his hands back to his sides. “Well, for one I have a bed, and two, I didn’t want to catch the glitter disease from you guys.” Stiles looked down at Derek’s sleep clothes, a black t-shirt and dark sweatpants and had the sudden urge to rub his entire body all over the man’s glitter free attire. A little because of the glitter comment and a lot because of…well, Stiles just wanted to.

“Maybe wait till we’re alone to do that,” Derek said with a smirk, throwing Stile’s off.

The Emissary blinked up at the older man. “Said that out loud, didn’t I.” It was more of a statement than a question. Derek nodded, the smirk turning into a soft smile. Stiles grinned now that it no longer felt like his skull had a small battering ram in it. 

He was just about to mention coffee when Derek, the brilliant, perfect son of a bitch read his mind and said, “I put a pot on already. It should be ready in about 5 minutes.”

The chorus of cheers died off quickly once they realized that yes, they still had hangovers, and Stiles chuckled, letting his hand slip across Derek’s shoulders as he made his way to the front door. “Save me a cup,” he called over his shoulder. 

 

The coffee smelled absolutely heavenly as it dripped into the pot. Scott and Isaac made sure that the Pack house was stocked to bursting with enough food for all of them and Derek had no complaints that he rarely had to do any shopping. Lydia insisted that since they all had jobs they needed to pull their own weight and contribute. Derek had built them a house damnit and Lydia Martin was not a moocher. The coffee, rich, expensive, dark Columbian was courtesy of her along with a barista’s wet dream worth of drink appliances and ingredients hidden away in a cupboard. Erica and Isaac took theirs with flavored creamer and sugar and Scott and Danny preferred just a little half and half. Lydia was having one of those mornings and just added a packet of sugar, stirring tiredly. Boyd dropped an ice cube in his steaming cup before diving right into it while Ethan had his head resting in his hands at the counter, looking like he’d fallen asleep again as his coffee was placed in front of him. 

Allison took her cup from Derek with a small nod of thanks and added some milk. “So, how was patrol last night?” she asked. At her side Danny perked up a little and give the Alpha a knowing, slightly smug smile. 

“Entertaining,” Derek said, returning Danny’s look. 5 minutes before he punched out at the station his phone rang. John didn’t even call him out on taking a look at it while on the clock because he himself was on his cell with Chris, talking about something or other that probably had to do with a new shipment of special ammunition for the department. On his screen flashed a text from Danny saying, _"Early birthday present.”_ He opened up a video file and he recognized the music instantly having heard something very similar when he was parked outside the club. When he saw the mass of writhing bodies on the screen he first assumed it was a bunch of Danny’s club friends doing some sort of choreographed dance. He wasn’t sure why the man had sent it to him but then the image panned up and Derek nearly dropped his phone. It was Stiles. Good, lord, it was Stiles, lighting up like a will of a wisp in the darkness and flashing lights. The glow on his skin was richer and deeper than the paint smeared bodies next to him. Derek saved that video the second it was over. 

“Do I even want to know?” Allison asked, looking between the two of them. 

Derek shook his head, dismissing the conversation as he poured the last cup of coffee. “Peter's at his apartment and Jackson headed back to the loft as soon as he dropped you guys off. I want all of you to be ready for training in two hours.” Everyone groaned except for Ethan who had actually fallen asleep at the table as their Alpha took up the two cups of coffee and made his way to the front door. 

The smell of smoke wasn’t nearly as abrasive as Derek had anticipated. It was more like incense. He found Stiles sitting on the porch railing bare feet dangling in the air, shoes strewn on the deck behind him. Stile was still in his clothes from the night before and Derek flashed back to the video, seeing the glowing blue lines on the mans' skin stopping abruptly when they hit the trim of his sleeve or neckline. The slight tension in the younger man’s shoulders seemed to ebb away as the thin white smoke passed his lips and drifted off into the air. Stiles reached up to rub at one of the piercings in his ear, carful not to let the ember end of the cigarette get too close. 

“What’s in that thing anyway?” Derek asked as he came up behind him, holding one of the cups out. 

Stiles looked over his shoulder and smiled a bit as he relieved Derek of his caffeinated burden. “This and that.”

Derek took another sniff of the air as Stiles took another drag. “Ginger?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Nice nose there. Yeah, that and willow bark, devils claw, tumric and some other stuff. Orange peal for taste.” He took a look at the rolled up paper between his long fingers and made a face as he exhaled the rest of the smoke. “Needs more orange.”

Derek frowned at the mention of the herbs, eyebrows knitting together. “…Stiles, those are all herbs used to deal with pain.” 

The Emissary fell short on words, lips parted slightly but no sound coming out as he stared at Derek. That had the wolf’s worry flaring up instantly. But then Stiles let out a little chuckle. “You’ve been hanging around Lydia and Danny too much.”

Derek’s frown deepened at his Mates reaction, neither confirming nor denying the reason for the herbs. Yes, this past year Lydia and Danny had been the ones to do most of the research into magic and anything related, herbs being one of them. Derek had listened and even had a small herb garden planted in the back for any emergencies. “It's good for the hangover,” Stiles said with a little shrug when Derek pressed on with his glare. 

The Alpha nearly growled and he leaned against the railing at Stiles side. “You didn’t start smoking those so you could help deal with hangovers.”

Stiles let out a quick sigh and tapped some glowing ash off the cigarette with his fingertip, letting it fall into the palm of his other hand. Derek jumped immediately and yanked Stiles hand back. “Stiles, what the hell?!” 

The Emissary nearly slipped off the porch railing at the action and his legs flailed but he managed to keep his balance. “Dangit, Derek don’t just yank me around!” Stiles scolded. His balanced was severely compromised this morning after all. But Derek was busy looking at his palm. He’d brushed off the embers, looking for the burn but saw that there was none. With the ease that Stiles had dumped the hot debris into his hand Derek knew that he did it often enough that he didn't even think about it any more. 

Stiles huffed and took his hand back gently, letting an intricate mapping of lines inside a circle shimmer blue for a moment on the surface of his palm. Once it was gone Derek could see the pale brown lines etched into the mans skin. “It’s a protection symbol,” Stiles explained. “Marabeth is a Hedgewitch and I helped her with a lot of potions and charms. Anti-fire runes are a hell of a lot more practical than carrying around oven mitts or rubber gloves.

Derek sighed a little as well and nodded. "Okay,” he said like he forgave Stiles for being an idiot. 

Stiles interpreted it that way at least and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Jeeze, no faith at all." 

“Faith is for optimistic people,” Derek said, taking a sip of his coffee finally. "I'll need to see some proof." 

Stiles laughed and did the same, making a pleased sound as the thick hot drink poured down his throat. “You wanna see my tricks, Der?”

Derek gave the man an eye roll. “At training tonight. You left for 11 months with only a days notice I might add, and the Pack should get to see what you were up to.” 

“Alright, alright,” Stiles conceded, waving the hand that held the cigarette at him. “But a lot of it is only practical in a real fight.” 

“We can do that,” Derek shrugged. If Stiles thought he was ready to join in those sessions Derek would let him. Under strict supervision. 

For a moment Stiles fixed the older man with an unreadable expression but then it was gone. “I need to go back to your loft and pick up my Jeep. I have some gear in there.” 

“I’ll drive!” Came a rather loud call from Scott back in the house, earning him one or two growls from the wolves and a sharp slap on the head from Lydia. Coffee perked everyone up. 

“ _I’ll_ drive,” Derek said, knowing Scott could hear. There was no way he was letting either of them get on a motorcycle for at least three more hours. “Finish your coffee and we’ll head out.” 

He watched as Stiles smiled into his coffee cup and then set his own down on the railing so he could wrap his arms around his Mates waist. Stiles, hands full, was a bit surprised. “Whoa, hey there Cuddles,” he said. The wolf rumbled a little in the back of his throat. Yeah, he knew he was being tactile, but come on. 11 months. This wasn’t going away any time soon. Or at all. 

Stiles didn’t seem to mind at all though and he leaned his back into Derek’s chest while the man’s chin rested on his shoulder. Derek couldn’t help but press his lips and teeth against the Stiles neck when he tipped his head back, feeling the pulse beneath the thin skin. “….You sort of taste like glitter,” Derek muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny training will ensue and yay! We get to see some cool stuff Stiles learned!


	16. Like a pack of wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles blinked at them. “The what?” He’d obviously missed something because Allison was reaching for her crossbow and Erica, Ethan, Scott, and Isaac had all crouched down, shifted and smiling with no modest amount of teeth. They were all looking at Stiles in a way that made him take a step back. “Wait, what, seriously?” Stiles squeaked. “You’re just going to rush me? Like....like a pack of wolves?” Erica gave a playful growl, shifting on her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta, sorry for typos, got this up in a rush.

Stiles jeep had never been all that pretty. It was older than him by at least 10 years, had more replacement parts than original (thanks Beacon Hills), still wasn’t one color, and the Pack was pretty sure that no matter how many times it was killed, maimed, or brutalized by their particularly active lifestyle, Rosco would never truly die. Stiles insisted it was the Pack mascot and Derek, while adamantly vetoing the idea of getting buttons made saying so, had long since given up trying to get his mate to sell it once he realized just how damn resilient it was. He’d grown too used to it himself. The smell and sound of it signaled when Stiles was near. Morbid as it was, it was the smell of blood that was always the strongest. Every member of his Pack had bled in that jeep, himself included. The seats would always be saturated in the scent no matter how much Stiles threw cleaners at it. It was partially that smell that had alerted the wolves to their Emissary when they’d pulled up at the gas station and Derek smelled it again when he pulled up to the loft. 

“Derek, for the last time, I do not want you to talk to Isabella. You’re only going to get all growly and your eyebrows will do the whole disappearing act and you’ll just cause Charlotte unnecessary stress.” Stiles had told Derek about the sisters during the drive and the Alpha had been a little pissed that someone would think Stiles hung around them just so he could get the bite. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Derek parked the Camaro next to Stiles jeep and gave a defeated sigh. “Fine. But you could have explained it to her a little. People should know you’re Pack.” It would keep Stiles safer; let the other predators in town know who not to mess with. 

“But it’s none of their business,” Stiles insisted. “Besides, I like the anonymity.”

“Why do I feel like you mean infamy?”

Stiles grinned and opened the door. “Time for that later, Der.” 

Derek stepped out of the car as well and watched Stiles walk over to his jeep. “Deaton called my cell last night while you were all asleep," he said as he leaned an elbow on the roof. “Are you going to meet up with him today?”

Stiles paused a moment, opening the door and then took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly. “I plan to. Maybe.” He sounded a little irritated. “It’s not like I don’t know where he works or anything.” He turned to look at Derek, an accusatory glint in his eye. “And it’s not like having everyone in the Pack tell me I should see him will make me see him any faster. I just got back you know.”

Derek shrugged. “I can’t help it if he can’t get a hold of you and has to go through the rest of us,” he said. “You should answer your phone when he calls.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, very mild guilt flickering across his face as he shrugged his shoulders. “I may have sort of blocked his number a few months ago.”He muttered quickly.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, fixing his Mate with an iconic bitchface, disapproval clear in his tone. “Why are you avoiding Deaton?”

Stiles pulled a shocked face of equal renown and blinked. “Avoid?” he said with mock aghast. “Moi? I would never do something so immature, Derek. I can’t believe you think so little of me.” He slid into his jeep, not even trying to conceal his heart beating out a lie and a trickle of worry sprang up in the back of Derek’s mind. “Now don’t we have some training to do?” Stiles asked before he shut the door. 

Derek let out a slow breath and got back into the Camaro, glancing out the window at Stiles digging around his passenger seat for something buried in a duffle bag. Shaking his head he fished out his cell phone from his jean pocket and opened up the message from Deaton. 

_February 2nd 1:04 PM. From Deaton:  
Derek, Isaac informed me that Stiles is back, as have Lydia and Scott. As I have not been able to reach my student for what is now going on 5 months, please tell him to call me as soon as he can._

Derek sighed and let the hand that held the phone drop to his lap. What was he supposed to say to the man? _Stiles, Deaton needs to have an Emissary to Ex-Emissary talk with you so stop being stubborn and call him._ Sure, that would go well. 

Waiting to hear Stiles start up his jeep Derek rest his head against the back of his seat, trying to think of why Stiles would be so peeved at the Druid in the first place. Yes, they’d been having some arguments before Stiles left but that was really just sass and banter, which was what Stiles did. Yes, it might have been a little more heated as Deaton was outright refusing to go any further with Stiles training, leaving the young man to research on his own with Lydia and Danny, but why would that make Stiles more angry than when he’d first left?

Derek was interrupted from his musings by his phone vibrating in his hand. He frowned at it before answering, like it had distracted him from something important. “Scott, what is it?”

 _“Are you guys going to be a while?”_ The other alpha asked and Derek almost rolled his eyes at the hopeful lilt in his voice. 

“We’ll be back in 15 minutes,” Derek replied. 

_“Are you guys boning?”_

“Jesus Christ, Erica,” Derek blurted out, feeling heat rise in his face. “No. We are getting Stiles’ jeep. Scott, are you guy’s seriously discussing your best friend's and your Alpha's sex life?”

 _“Nooo,”_ Scott said slowly only for Erica to call out, _“Duh!”_ in the background. Derek heard a slap and hoped it was Allison or Lydia taking their hand to the back of the blonde’s head. 

“Okay,” Derek said, taking a deep calming breath. “Since you guys are obviously over your hangovers I’ll expect you all outside running laps by the time we get back.” He felt a little better at the chorus of groans he heard when he announced that. “If you’re not I’m sure that Stiles and I can find some great new exercises and magically enhanced booby traps to set up in the preserve.” It was at that moment he heard Stile’s jeep roar to life and he glanced out the window to see Stiles staring at him with raised eyebrow. For a moment Derek wondered if the Emissary could actually hear what they were saying. The look on his face certainly seemed to say so. “We’re leaving now. You have 15 minutes.”

-

Training had long since evolved from Derek throwing his Betas against hard surfaces for hours on end though it was still a favorite past time. Before he had left it had been Peter of all people that agreed with Stiles that there needed to be some sort of learning curve that a tree or a brick wall at the warehouse just did not supply. The Preserve offered a wellspring of natural challenges for them that covered speed, endurance, tracking, stealth, and teamwork. Lydia and Danny had participated in many Skype conversations with Stiles over the last 11 months trying to figure out some different spells and concoctions to trip the wolves up. The result was probably the best game of hide-and-go seek ever and something akin to a life size wack-a-mole. Except the moles were things that you wanted to avoid like projectile weapons and modified bear traps. The humans had learned to keep up surprisingly well though they had their own training with Chris to occupy most of their time. Danny, apart from knowing the ins an outs of 5 types of fire arms, opted to sit out most of the time and work on other things as he was rarely called in for an actual fight. Lydia and Allison on the other hand, being the bad ass’s that they were, reveled at the competition. They learned a long time ago that if they wanted to run with the pack they needed to learn all the tricks that they could. With Stiles and Deatons tutelage, magic was one of them. 

When Stiles and Derek got back to the Pack house Lydia was there to meet them at the driveway. Gone was the flyaway bed hair which was now tied back in a tight braid. She gave Stiles a predatory grin when she saw him looking her over. “Like what you see Stilinski?” Trading in her classic floral and bright flowing outfits, Lydia was wearing form-fitting pair of gray pants with sewn in knee pads and and equally tight but padded short sleeved shirt with arm guards to match. There were even slots sewn into the fabric for blades and straps for a utility belt. No doubt where Lydia stored her Molotov cocktails. 

“Is that…paintball gear?” Stiles asked. 

The redhead smiled and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Modified.”

There was a rustling in the leaves as Allison jogged over to join them. She wore much the same outfit as Lydia though hers was all black and her arm guards reached to her hands to protect her from the snap of a bowstring. On her hip was a folded up crossbow and both of them wore tall, well-used combat boots. Lydia’s were steel tipped. Allison still looked a little tired but the flush from running seemed to have perked her up a bit. “The rest of them should be getting back soon,” she said to Derek before eyeing Stiles, a smile creeping onto her face. “And you might want to change.”

Stiles gave a small snort and hefted a bag over his shoulder that he’d taken out of the car. “Yeah, I figured.” Danny would kill him if he ripped these jeans. 

Allison jerked her head towards the house. “I have some old gear of my dads back in the house. Lets see if any of it fits you." 

The smile on Stiles face only grew and it wasn’t because he was being offered free Argent training apparel. “How about you take a look at the gear that _I_ brought.” 

The Huntress' eyes narrowed in curiosity and she cocked her head to the side, throwing a look at Lydia and had a contemplative glint in her eye. “Lead the way then,” the redhead said with a wave of her hand.

Derek was sorely tempted to follow the three of them back into the house but the crashing and laughter he heard from his Betas drew his attention. Stiles nudged the Alphas shoulder with his own. “We’ll meet you out there.” Derek was about to argue but Stiles leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the lips before he could open his mouth. His amber eyes caught the morning sun in a way that made them seem to glow. “Play nice.” 

Derek flashed his teeth playfully and shifted before darting off into the woods. 

 

After seeing Stiles wardrobe change from the time he walked down the stairs his first night back, to his Danny inspired club outfit, Derek expected something equally impressive for a training outfit, especially after having witnessed the young man beat a Redcaps face in with the handle of a knife. When Stiles and the girls finally joined them Derek didn’t know whether to be shocked or disappointed. The dark red hoody was so achingly familiar that his wolf almost whined. He wore fitted black pants and thin-soled leather combat boots that laced a few inches above his ankles. The glitter and paint smudges had been washed off and his brown hair was pushed back, revealing the metal glinting on his ear. He looked taller again and Derek realized it was because his shoulders were straighter, confidant. Stiles was comfortable in a way that was a little new to him. He wasn’t fidgeting. 

Scott had stopped wrestling with Isaac when he heard the humans getting close. “You sure you have enough padding….” He trailed off when Stiles rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Black sleeves with metal plating etched with runes. 

“We’ve only got him in some basic bracers now,” Allison said. “The rest of his gear is a little too much for training.” There was pure approval in her voice and in the way she clapped their Emissary on the back before she passed him. He had the Hunter stamp of approval.

Stiles put his hands in his pocket and looked around at the wolves. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “I’d say a demonstration of what you learned in New York is in order.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, egging for more information. “So, barriers? Defensive tactics? Knife work? Projectiles spells, hand to hand combat, hand to weapon, weapon to fang, nature manipulation, incantations, potions, masking spells?” He rattled them off one after the other until Lydia finally clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Alright, how about you just surprise us,” she said. 

Stiles pushed her hand away. “Okay, but I’m going to warn you now I'm much better in a real life and death situation than I am in training.” 

“Don’t worry,” Scott said with a bright smile. “We won’t laugh.”

“Much,” Erica added. 

Lydia looked at Derek and Stiles felt his stomach flip at the way they grinned at each other evilly. “How about the Hunter game?” 

Stiles blinked at them. “The what?” He’d obviously missed something because Allison was reaching for her crossbow and Erica, Ethan, Scott, and Isaac had all crouched down, shifted and smiling with no modest amount of teeth. They were all looking at Stiles in a way that made him take a step back. “Wait, what, seriously?” Stiles squeaked. “You’re just going to rush me? Like....like a pack of _wolves_?” Erica gave a playful growl, shifting on her feet.

Derek shrugged, trying not to smile. “Ten…nine…eight…”

Even Derek was impressed at the speed Stiles took off into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Trying to decide if I want a fight right away now....I kind of do...
> 
> Thoughts?


	17. We're just that lucky. Not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A loud roar broke the silence and Scott ran at Stiles next, followed closely by Isaac in a pattern Derek recognized as something he’d taught them. Never let a Pack mate attack alone when dealing with a single opponent. It was better to be safe than sorry. In this case however Derek was itching to move. His wolf didn’t like seeing its Mate outnumbered, even by his own Pack. Lydia stilled Derek with a glance and shook her head. “He’ll be fine,” she insisted.

Stiles would have to talk to Derek later about the ten-second head start thing. A fairer number would have been twenty. Fifteen even. The wolves were shifted and snarling and Allison ran like a gazelle, barely making a sound, running with one hand on the crossbow and one holding the bolt, both looking unfairly lethal. They’d begun so quickly that Stiles barely had time to get his barring’s after he started running and it took a good 60 seconds or so to even recall what direction he was going, pulling up his mental map of the preserve. He caught on quickly that the Hunter game apparently meant letting the actual Hunter in the group and the fastest wolves, aside from Derek, chase down the prey- a.k.a Stiles. The goal was to catch the prey and force it to submit willingly (which Stiles refused to do), or put it out of commission (something Stiles liked to avoid.) Erica had always been quick but Ethan had the endurance he’d learned from Deucalion’s pack so he headed up the chase. Scott’s instinct to stay by the human of the group was overruled by the need to finally see what his best friend could do and he ran alongside Isaac while Allison broke away and off to the side when she saw Stiles shift directions. Stiles didn’t hear anyone talking at first but be could hear the footfall on the leaves. He had been chased trough the woods by enough predators to know not to look back. Looking back was always a mistake.

Boyd, Lydia, and Derek followed along after them but eventually Derek raced on ahead. He wove through the trees, keeping an eye on the flash of red as it darted in and out of sight. Stiles ran quickly, more quickly than he had 11 months ago and his breathing was steady. He ducked under fallen trees and leaped over obstacles in his way as though he’d run the trail a hundred times. Which, he probably had. 

Erica taunted him from behind after about three minutes. “Stiiiles, don’t just run away. It’s no fun!” Her words were slightly muffled from the new set of fangs. She jumped over a fallen tree and just then the blonde werewolf yelped and stumbled, feet shooting out like she’d tripped over something at shin level. They all heard Stiles laugh exuberantly up ahead as he removed his hand from his pocket. Derek caught the barest whiff of mountain ash in the air. He hadn’t smelled any on Stiles before. In fact…he hadn’t smelled anything really. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the Pack had memorized their Emissary’s smell they might not have noticed how faint it was. 

“Allison,” Ethan called out once Erica had gotten back up. Stiles eyes widened when he saw her. About 30 yards ahead the Huntress stopped, having gotten closer to Stiles thanks to her shortcut. She took her stance; practice arrow with a wide soft tip notched in her crossbow and aimed right at him. The wolves kept running after Stiles, closing the distance, and Allison released the trigger. 

Naturally Derek had kept up, keeping an eye on the chase in a way only a paranoid boyfriend/alpha/territorial Werewolf could. He saw the arrow zoom towards the young man and felt the abrupt urge to call out a warning but the words died on his lips as Stiles reached out, grabbed a willowy young tree with his hand and swung around it like a dancer on a pole, feet leaving the ground entirely. Bark scraped against the skin of his palm and broke out like dust on the trunk but Stiles held on, tattoos on his fingers and hand glowing. 

Ethan had gained the most distance and was closest behind him. The momentum was timed just well enough that Stiles used his speed to loop around the tree and land his boots square into Ethan’s side. He lost his grip on the tree and sent both himself and the wolf tumbling while the arrow shot past, just barely avoiding impact. Isaac and Scott shared a look and Allison blinked, lowering her weapon. She was not used to missing her target. Ethan struck the ground with a grunt but was back on his feet quickly, looking just as surprised as the others

Stiles rolled to his feet and crouched low as Scott, Isaac, and Erica slowed in front of him. There was a small scratch on his chin but his pulse was steady even if his breath was slightly ragged. His body didn’t move after he crouched down, tense and coiled, but his eyes flicked about restlessly, gauging every movement and twitch.

Erica’s claws were out at her sides and her eyes glowed yellow. “Nice moves,” she grinned. “See you became a gymnast while you were away.” Stiles just met her eyes with a confidence and calm that not many people would have when facing something that could kill them. Stiles had always felt a healthy dose of dread towards supernatural creatures despite his incessant need to run his mouth at them, but that acrid scent of fear was lacking now. Erica felt her face shift in response to its absence, brow ridge elongating, teeth parting her lips. There was certainly something different. They’d all trained with Stiles before but they’d pulled punches, slowed down, been careful because a human was human. They exercised the same caution with the other humans in the Pack and left the real fighting during training between those who had claws and fangs. 

Still saying nothing while the others watched him Stiles shifted on his feet like energy was pooling in the souls of his shoes, begging to be released. Isaac actually tensed a little when the Emissary stirred. The aggressive but not entirely hostile ripples of emotion they were sensing from Stiles now made them think that ‘pulling punches’ wasn’t really an option anymore. 

Scott’s eyes flashed red as he trained them on his friend. He got on all fours, hands digging into the leaves and dirt, looking like he was getting ready to pounce. “Was that mountain ash before?” He asked. He’d caught the same faint scent as Derek. 

“Yes. Particle manipulation,” Stiles replied. “Sand, ash, dust- I only need a little bit now. That was about a gram. I keep them in pill capsules.” He gave his friend a cheeky smiled. “Trick I picked up from you actually.” Derek, watching from a distance while Lydia and Boyd joined him, was surprised at that knowledge. If the ash was stored in a capsule the line Stiles created for Erica to trip over must have been wire thin and it had still managed to take down a charging wolf.

A loud roar broke the silence and Scott ran at Stiles next, followed closely by Isaac in a pattern Derek recognized as something he’d taught them. Never let a Pack mate attack alone when dealing with a single opponent. It was better to be safe than sorry. In this case however Derek was itching to move. His wolf didn’t like seeing its Mate outnumbered, even by his own Pack. Lydia stilled Derek with a glance and shook her head. “He’ll be fine,” she insisted. 

Stiles looked off to the side long enough to keep tabs on Ethan and Erica and met Scott with a full body tackle. It hurt just as much as he remembered but the padding he had on helped a little. He was completely knocked over by the impact but he jerked his feet up and pressed them into Scott’s stomach before the other man could get a good hold on him. With a grunt he pushed and heaved the Werewolf off in mid roll. Isaac had him in a chokehold a moment later but it was light, barely restricting his air.

“Too loose,” Stiles choked out, gripping Isaac’s wrist. 

Isaac had Stiles down on one knee, bent over him from behind and using his height to his advantage. “I’m not really trying to choke you, you know,” he said. 

Isaac happened to catch the Emissaries eyes. Something else glowed in those amber depths; something more than before, echoed in the faint lines etched in the man’s skin. Just like at the club the night before when even Isabella had sensed something. “Your mistake then.” Isaac suddenly saw the truth in that. The unexpected death grip on his wrist made Isaac blink and before he could react another hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt. With a burst of strength from Stiles’ back leg he jerked forward and pulled, sending Isaac tumbling over his shoulder. He slammed into the ground with enough force to knock the breath out of him. 

Derek had taught the others well in his absence because Stiles didn’t have time to get to his feet again before Erica was on him, pinning him to the ground and straddling his hips. She snarled in his face and drew her arm back, ready to deliver the ‘kill’ shot that would win her team the game. Stiles brought up his arm just in time to catch the tips of her claws swinging down and for a moment fear flickered through her eyes. Erica almost pulled back forgetting that Stiles was wearing arm guards. A second later she was reminded of it when he belted her across the check with the entirety of his metal plated forearm. The she-wolf rolled off of the man with a startled yelp. "Ow, Stilinski!" Erica removed her hand from her check and her eyes flashed when she saw the line of blood on her palm. 

A safe distance away Boyd commented, “Didn’t he have a huge thing about hitting girls?”

“Not when they’re trying to kill him apparently,” Lydia said admiringly. 

“Don’t worry Catwoman, you’re still pretty.” Stiles teased as he scrambled to his feet, away from Erica. The blonde’s grin was feral and Derek winced. Erica was still a pretty loose canon with a temper a mile wide. She hated to lose. 

“Oh, it’s so on,” Erica laughed darkly. Her eyes flicked to the side and Stiles turned just in time to dodge Ethan’s swing with an alarmed cry. The bastard had snuck up behind him while he was fighting the other three. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and straight to his head as Ethan’s claws hissed through the air inches from his face, eyes glowing that eerie blue. 

“That all you got?” Ethan growled eagerly. Stiles crouched low to dodge another blow and then he sprang back up, arms in tight before his left shot out and jabbed the taller man right in the jaw. Derek heard something crunch at his side and he looked over to see that his claws had come out and were sunk into the bark of the tree next to him. He quickly withdrew them but not without catching the look he got from Boyd and Lydia. 

A rune on Stiles arm guard flashed blue and he hit the stunned Werewolf twice more in quick succession until there was another loud crack. Ethan's face shifted fully in pain and he growled, blood pouring out his nose. Clawed hands tensed at his side and Stiles didn’t even wait for him to raise his arm before he was spinning around and cracking Ethan right in the jaw with his elbow. Another rune flared to life at the impact and Ethan actually stumbled back. Pain flared through Stiles arm all the way to his shoulder and he swore a bit, shaking it out. “Ow! Jesus are you made of stone man!?” The humor took some of the pressure off the situation, reminding them (including Stiles), that this was still only training. Ethan wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve, letting out a breath as the blue faded from his eyes. “Okay, so you’ve got the mountain ash barriers and decent hand to hand combat,” he declared, voice slightly muddled thanks to a broken nose. “Hardly something to spend 11 months on. Lets see some of that other magic you mentioned.”

"Nature magic," Erica added off the top of her head.

Stiles winced a little and glanced behind him to see Allison loading another bolt into her bow. “Um, okay, but that’s a little…tricky?”

“Can you do it or not Stiles?” Lydia called out suddenly, making Derek jump next to her.

Stiles looked over at them with an exasperated expression. “I don’t know! Maybe!?” He called back. “New York isn’t exactly known for its abundance of nature, Lydia!” The wolves heard an uptick in the man’s heartbeat that gave away his nervousness. That was an opening. “Try not to get hit in the face,” was Allison’s only warning before she pulled the trigger again and the bolt shot forward. Distracted, Stiles got nicked and he cried out more in shock than pain. Not that it didn’t hurt to get shot with a blunt object going 200 feet per second. “Sorry!” Allison winced out. “That was a little high.”

Stiles clutched at his collar-bone and sent her a wide eyed glare. “You think!” 

Derek couldn’t keep quiet any more. “Pay attention, Stiles!” Scott had a short running start and Stiles jumped to attention at the Alpha’s order. He faced Scott and put his hand behind his back. He could feel the Pack watching intently as he dropped down and spun, fingertips brushing the leaves under him as he gathering his will. A warm sensation spread along the tattoos on his arms and his eyes shimmered with a pale purple. An eddy of wind kicked up beneath his hand and hurled a flurry of leaves and dirt at Scott. Derek heard Lydia’s breath catch and her eyes widened. She took a few steps forward as though a few feet would let her see more. Stiles knelt and struck his hands to the ground, his eyes flashing. A tremor ran through the dirt like a small wave, reaching out for Erica and Allison. The two women jerked and fell as though a rug had been pulled out from under them. The scent of ozone slowly mixed with the smell of wet leaves and dirt. 

Ethan, blood from his healing nose staining the front of his shirt, roared and came at him once again. The loud sound from the former alpha made Stiles stand and he reached out without thinking, touching the trunk of a young tree, eyes still glowing. Bark cracked and he felt a shower of debris on his shoulder before he felt a sharp explosion of pain on the side of his face. Stiles was a least confidant that he didn’t face plant in the dirt before his vision darkened. 

The sun was right where it had been before when his senses came back to him so Stiles knew he hadn’t been out for long. He was just…horizontal now. And he felt like his brain, which was currently trying to evacuate his skull like a disaster victim, had punched him in the back of the eyes. All he could do was keep them closed and refrain from screaming at the leaves on the ground to stop their loud ass rustling. Seriously, the wind had no manners…

“Hey Stiles.”

A muscle in the man’s face gave a small twitch. “Stiles, how’d it go?” Oh, god, he could hear the smirk on Erica’s lips. And the snickers from Ethan and Allison. And Scott, the traitor. “Cuz it looked like it was sort of an epic failure. Like, you totally got bitched slapped by a tree.”

Ugg, the tree. He’d touched it without thinking. Damnit nature, you suck. “Swear to god,” Stiles groaned, “this branch will go right up your ass.” His Pack was so mean. He was so revoking their friendship cards.

“Consider it payback for earlier,” Erica said haughtily. “I’m going to have a bruise now.” “Yeah, for like ten minutes,” Stiles countered. Normally it would have been around two minutes but magic arm guards packed a little more of a punch. Erica kicked up some leaves onto his face in retaliation and Stiles positioned his arm so it was sticking straight up in the air, flipping her a lovely bird. He felt a warm hand wrap around his outstretched one and Stiles opened his eyes as Derek pulled him gently to his feet. The Alpha looking at him with mild concern and amusement. “You all right?” he asked. Stiles felt his cheek sting as Derek touched it. 

He reached up and ran his fingertips along the small cut the branch had left on him and pulled a frown. “I’ve still got some things to work out with nature,” he said with a shrug, trying not to look too embarrassed. “Me and her have a love hate relationship.” He caught Derek giving him a once over and Stiles spread his arms out to the side, grinning. “Care to do a pat-down big guy? Make sure I’m still in one piece?”

Derek looked like he was actually considering though maybe not for the reason Stiles suggested, and Scott gave his friend a kindly shove to the back. “You’ve gotten pretty fast man. Too bad we don’t do lacrosse anymore.” The True Alpha hadn’t bothered to brush dirt and leave out of his hair and that made Stiles laugh, ruffling the dark locks. 

“There are like, five Fae on the team now,” Isaac said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Two Satyrs, an Elf, and a Red Man.” 

“I still think we need to keep an eye on him,” Scott frowned. “He might go nuts and start scalping people like the other ones.”

“Red Man, Scott,” Lydia droned like they’d had this conversation before. “Not Red _Cap_. The most he’d do is play mean jokes.” 

“I’m sure Finstock loves that,” Stiles smirked as he walked over to Ethan and stared hard at him, assessing the damage of the healing broken nose. Ethan didn’t seem all that uncomfortable with the invasion of personal space as Stiles was totally nonchalant about it.

“Anyway,” Isaac went on, “We’re pretty sure they’re going to state this year. Those Satyrs are just brutal on the field.” 

“Jeeze,” Stiles muttered. “And I thought we had an unfair advantage when we were in high school what with Werewolves and a Kanima running around on our team.” He’d moved on to Erica and they watched as he tipped her face a bit, poking at the cut. Erica made a sound and Stiles drew his hand back. “Yeah, sorry, I still haven’t gotten the hang of dialing the rune strength back. It was all kind of learn on the job setting and I just went full blast with everything.”

Lydia had been quite up until she cocked her hip to the side and stated. “You’ll just have to train more with us. Danny and I can help you with the magic part.”

“Hopefully,” Boyd added, “you can get some more practice in before you need to go full blast again.” 

It was at that moment however that fate decided to collectively tap the Hale Pack on the shoulders and say ‘Hello, nice to see you again,’ because both Derek and Ethan’s phones went off. The two of them had their deputy faces on after they read the message. “Since when are we ever that lucky?” Ethan sighed. 

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s phone till he had it in his hands and blinked, reading out loud, “Jackson spotted drunk Centaurs in the soccer field. Peter and I are on our way. Get there ASAP.” He finished quickly and looked up at the rest of them. He thought it was very interesting that his father had become one of the points of first contact when supernatural badness went down but maybe it was because of his two Pack deputies. “Well…good thing we’re all sort of dressed for it,” he said finally. 

Derek took back his phone with a shake of his head and a small endearing smile. “The wolves will go on ahead and help Jackson. John and Peter might get there before us and we don’t know if they called Chris yet so keep your eyes and ears open for them. I want one wolf with each human at all times when we see the Centaurs. Lydia, Allison, Stiles, you guys come by car and bring along some long-range weapons. I don’t want anyone getting too close.” 

Stiles watched Derek take charge with rapt attention. It was mind blowing how far the Alpha had come from when he’d been biting teenagers all willy-nilly, desperate for a pack. This wasn’t the same Alpha that had almost gotten all of them killed with his single mindedness, or the man that had let Scott, True Alpha but inexperienced, become the leader of said pack for a short while.

“And Stiles,” Derek said, fixing his hazel green hues on the other man. Stiles blinked himself out of his daze to find Derek stepping into his space and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Stiles felt the sharp edges of teeth brush over his skin and he shuddered. Derek pulled back, irises laced with red. His voice was low in the way it got when they were lying next to each other, making Stiles skin tingle with each breath. “Show me what you got.” The excited spike in the Emissaries pulse had the Alpha rumbling deep in his chest as he pulled back reluctantly to go after the rest of his Pack. Stiles watched him go with a longing, stimulated flush on his cheeks. 

“Yerkes and Dodson would have loved to have met you two,” Lydia stated simply before she turned on her heal and started running back to the house where the cars were parked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yerkes-Dodson law. Its a thing. 
> 
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yerkes%E2%80%93Dodson_law
> 
> Lydia is a smarty pants.


	18. The start of trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Iron is always good.” He glanced between the two women, nearly all geared up and battle ready. “So, have I mentioned how incredibly hot you two are lately? This whole GI Jane thing is sort of like every man’s fantasy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lydia knows. She totally knows.

Stile had to admit that the car ride over reminded him a lot of driving in New York. The group he’d run with was filled with crazy people who did not believe in traffic laws or assumed they didn’t apply to people who were chasing down a Hobgoblin who’d stolen a ‘67 Chevi. Allison behind the wheel of one of her dad’s large, shiny, super SUV was a force to be reckoned with. She drove recklessly like Scott, but with more precision. He sat in the back with Lydia rummaging through bags and opening up custom compartments. The redhead slipped a few knives into the sheaths on her clothes and opened up the center console in the seat between them, revealing a compartment with about 10 or so vials packed in foam. Miniature Molotov's. Lydia pulled three out and slipped them onto a utility belt she’d found in the bag. 

Stiles had grabbed another bag from his jeep that had thudded to the ground so loudly Lydia though the man had a set of weights in there. Stiles only opened it up and pulled out a smaller and obviously lighter bag, leaving the other one on the ground as they raced to Allison’s car. From inside the smaller bag Lydia watched as Stiles pulled out a pair of black fingerless gloves. Something glinted on the knuckles and she frowned a bit. “What are those?” she asked.

Stiles finished tying the strap and then flexed his fingers a bit. “You know how some gloves have those tiny metal spikes on the knuckles?” Lydia nodded and Stiles held up his hand for her to see. “I opted for small razor blades.”

Allison whistled, looking at them in the rear view mirror. “You’re one sick puppy, Stiles,”

“Do you want any cocktails?” Lydia went on, choosing to ignore how she was thinking just how much getting punched by Stiles would hurt. She didn’t envy those Centaurs.

Stiles shook his head and reached into his bag again. “No, I’m covered.” He pulled out a sheathed knife from his small bag, about a foot long with runes etched into the handle, and slipped it into his left boot, a place that really felt a little too loose without it. “Centaurs aren’t too bad most of the time. Pretty chill actually; know a lot about history,” he said. “You can sort of compare them to a really smart wild stallion though. They spook easy and are stubborn as hell but if you can get them to stop trying to brain you with their hooves they relax pretty easy.” 

“So we just have to break them,” Allison said with a smile as Lydia placed a new quiver of arrows and her compound bow in the passengers seat. 

“Exactly,” Stiles grinned and pulled a thin chain from under his sweatshirt that was around his neck, letting Lydia see before tucking it away again. “Iron is always good.” He glanced between the two women, nearly all geared up and battle ready. “So, have I mentioned how incredibly hot you two are lately? This whole GI Jane thing is sort of like every man’s fantasy.” 

Lydia raised an eyebrow but couldn’t hide her smile. “Down boy. Save that for your Alpha.”

“Hush, Derek already knows he’s every man’s fantasy,” Stiles said with a dismissive flick of his hand. 

Allison laughed as she took a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding jumping the curb. Thank god she seemed to know what streets would be less crowded. She got a text on her phone and glanced at it quickly. “The rest of the Pack is at the school already. They’re chasing the Centaurs into the woods. Scott say’s there are only two of them. Males. Might be a territory or mating thing.” She took another jerky turn, changing directions. “We should be there in about five minutes.”

They fell silent as they finished raiding the car for everything they would need and out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Stiles take a deep breath, eyes closed. The pale tattoos that were still visible on his fingers and peaking out from under the neck of his shirt glowed with a ghostly pale light. Lydia reached out and tapped the bare patch of skin she could reach because Stiles had rolled up his sleeve. Her fingertip tingled. “I’m looking forward to hearing more about those,” she said calmly before tightening her ponytail. 

“Mm,” was Stiles response, his eyes still closed as he let out another breath. 

“And about what really went on in New York.”

Stiles could feel both of the girls’ eyes on him and he opened his own, hints of purple fading out of them as he finally turned his head to look at the Banshee. The expression on Lydia’s face was exactly what he’d expected so he wasn’t surprised. “Nature magic,” Lydia said simply, touching her cheek where the shallow cut lay on Stiles own. It was hard to tell if her eyes were smiling because of the frown. “This wouldn’t happen to be why you’re avoiding Deaton, would it Stiles?”

When asked a direct question that he didn’t want to answer Lydia knew Stiles to have a 90% chance of laughing, making some kind of excuse, or telling a half-truth, but his expression was contrary to the probability. His mouth was set in a hard line, eyes equally unyielding. “Deaton and I have some things to discuss. I want to wait till I’m sure I wont punch him in the face.”

At that admission, Allison glanced over her shoulder and caught Lydia’s eye, looking concerned as they shared a meaningful stare. Almost an entire conversation passed wordlessly between them. Stiles mood shift swiftly after that and he gazed out the window at the stream of trees flying past as they turned onto a dirt road off the highway. “Up ahead.” He’d caught a glimpse of horse features through the trees and knew that the wolves and his dad would be close behind. The discussion was cut off though words hung in the air as Allison stepped on the breaks and threw the car into park. 

 

\---

 

Nothing quite compared to the sight of half man, half equine creatures beating on each other, rearing over 13 feet tall and planting their hooves on any exposed flesh they could find. The whole fight had lasted maybe twenty minutes and the result was something they could all be quite proud of. Training paid off; they moved like a unit instead of on their own and they fought strategically, Derek shouting tactical orders all the while. The clearing looked like a small battle took place there. Trees were missing bark, clumps of dirt were gouged out of the ground and more than a few saplings had been uprooted and charred thanks to Lydia's liberal use of molotov cocktails. Jackson, who had marked the two after they’d stumbled out of a bar, still in human form, had managed to get rid of any onlookers before John and Peter arrived. The wolves tag teamed the creatures for a good ten minutes, trying to get them to calm down and stop lashing out at anything that moved. It didn’t really work. They were either bellowing at the wolves running around them or at each other and there was really no talking them down. The Sheriff had called in the alert letting the rest of the officers at the station know what was going on and not to panic if they got calls about loud noises coming from the woods. It was being handled. 

“Ahh, shit how can a finger hurt so much!?” Scott whined, cradling his hand. His pinky was swollen, purple, and bent at a sickening angle.” Out of the all of them his was probably the most minor injury apart from the bruises that Ethan and Boyd got. Their bulky bodies were much more adapted to brawls with Centaur’s while the smaller members of the pack had gotten bucked and knocked around quite a bit. Scott has his finger dislocated and severely broken by a set of blunt omnivorous teeth. 

“Maybe if you’d stop touching it, it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Erica minced, hissing at the bruise on her jaw that was the size of a dinner plate (and the shape of a hoof). 

“The bones are already healing. Its probably a pinched nerve,” Stiles said, looking at the bruised, swollen digit with a calculating eye. “Give it here, I’ll pop it back.” He made grabby hands at Scott. 

Wide eyed, Scott turned to the side protecting his hand from the damage that was currently his best friend. “What? No, dude. I can wait. Super healing, remember?”

The Emissary raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and remember the time you didn’t reset your broken toe and it healed a half hour later? Crooked?” Scott winced at the memory and still thought about arguing but he’d just seen Stiles jump on the back of a homicidal Centaur so he could slip an iron chain around its neck and drop it to the ground. The man’s knuckles were speckled with blood from hits landed with those sinister looking gloves. Scott held out his hand with a defeated sigh. 

“I’ll count to three, okay,” Stiles said in a reassuring manner, taking hold of Scott’s pinky.

“Wait, wait,” Scot said quickly, stalling for time. “Does that mean you’ll do it after three or on three?” 

“After three,” Stiles answered. “Ready?”

Scott winced and nodded. “Okay. Just… careful.”

Stiles grinned. “You got it, buddy. One…two-,” _Crack._

Scott howled and flailed. “Oh my _god_ , you’re such an asshole!”

“Wolf up, Scotty,” Stiles rallied as he rocked to his feet and ruffled his friend’s hair. He looked around at the others before his eyes settled on Jackson who did not pale two more shades. He didn’t, okay. He’d been cradling a dislocated shoulder and was now dropping his arm, wide eyed as he looked around for assistance from the others. Stiles grinned and laced his fingers together, cracking his knuckles. “Next patent, please.”

While Stiles brutalized the Pack playing doctor, Derek sat at the base of a tall old tree with John and Peter. They were covered with dirt and scrapes though they looked unworried and at ease like the only thing missing from the scene were a couple of cold beers. And the absence of the two unconscious Centaurs sprawled out behind them. 

“Well…that went slightly better than expected,” John said after a while. He had a small scrape on his forehead but was otherwise unharmed. He knew better than to come between two men trying to kill each other over a woman; that was just asking to get a swift kick in the head. 

Peter attempted to brush some dirt off of his sleeve. “I beg to differ,” he refuted. “I can’t say I miss other wolves coming after our territory but I think I might prefer them to other Fae. At least we know how to deal with wolves. Centaurs are just so…” he made a waving motion with his hand as he searched for the word. “Barbarous. Far too much trouble. ”

“Biting still seems to do the trick,” Derek offered as he watched Stiles leave a cursing Jackson on the ground, lamenting his throbbing shoulder which had elicited a loud pop when Stiles shoved it back in to place. 

“And the iron dusted rubber bullets,” John added, giving the rifle he had leaning against his leg a fond pat. One of the Centaurs sported a nasty fist sized bruise on his chest where the Sheriff had shot him. His son was now making his way to Erica who was huddled behind Allison and Boyd insisting that she was fine. Too bad she couldn’t run away thanks to a wrenched knee. He winced a little when he heard it snap back into place and Erica shrieked. “So what was that language Stiles used?” John asked diverting his attention. Right in the middle of the fray Stiles had kept the equine creature from stomping down on Lydia by shouting something at them, causing them to change their attention to him instead. 

Peter made a small, thoughtful noise. He knew his languages but sometimes he forgot that they paled in comparison to the ones Stiles knew. The kid picked up ancient languages like breathing. And resetting bones apparently. “Mmmm, some form of ancient Greek I think,” he finally answered. Stiles had probably shouted some obscene historic insult at them. Apparently that was just what Stiles did when faced with a rampaging Centaur. 

“Ancient Greek,” Derek repeated in a monotone voice. Isaac’s yelp of pain came from what Derek attributed to a popped hip judging by the way he’d been lying down on the ground.

“Yup,” John said with a nod, popping his 'p' in imitation of his son. John was still having a time adjusting to the fact that the last time he’d seen Stiles fight with the Pack he’d been slinging handfuls of salt and mountain ash, believing and hoping to any god that would listen that whatever he was trying would work. The last time John had properly seen his son he’d been hugging him goodbye at the airport, careful of the wound on his back. John barely saw the salt or ash this time and the barriers didn’t give an inch. Neither did Stiles. Needless to say any doubts John had that his son would adapt to this faster paced version of Beacon Hills were pacified. 

Stiles checked to make sure that Allison and Lydia weren’t hemorrhaging from their cuts and once he was sure that everyone’s wolfy powers were jumpstarting their healing he turned to look at the three older men sitting down by the tree. “You guys okay?” Their immediate unanimous answer was, “Yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 4000 hits! In celebration my next chapter will be longer. Ugg. They are so short. I'm such a failface.


	19. Centaurs POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson looked affronted. “I have a 16 hour flight tomorrow night with at least 5 hours of layovers. Trust me, I totally could have ignored them. I’d say I’m a model of human civility for calling in the 911. Your welcome.” The blonde wolf then made sure to let everyone know that the next time he got kicked in the head with a hoof he was going to take up glue- making. The younger Centaur glanced at the older one and gulped. He was pretty sure he’d been the one to kick him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter as promised (though not much longer. I am apparently allergic to them?) 
> 
> So, I do know that I vaguely hint at a lot of things and kind of drag stuff out but please stay with me! It might be slowish now but I've got some stuff lined up like more of Stiles NY friends showing up, vampires, and the much alluded to talk with Deaton. 
> 
> And, as always; un beta'd. Sorry for errors.

When the two Centaurs awoke they literally felt like they’d been kicked in the heads by a horse and the irony was oh so bitter. The older Centaur appeared to be in his late 30s though he was going on 200 and had a dapple-gray frame metamorphosing out from his hips. The other, a young looking 125 year-old had a more willowy form of dark brown. Their bare chests were practically tie-dyed in bruises and the younger one had a split lip that would no doubt swell to golf ball size in an hour judging by the bruise that took up his entire chin. The last lucid thing they remembered was leaving the bar after their 5th drink of ambrosia laced hard cider, arguing heatedly about a great pair of legs tending the bar. Everything went fuzzy after that.

The red haze that had clouded their senses slowly dissipated and they found themselves sprawled out on the forest floor, groggy, aching and disoriented. They quickly realized that they were not alone. They were in fact in the presence of not one but seven Werewolves. A Pack. The wolves were mulling around talking amiably with one another until one of them- a muscular man with an incredibly young looking face and a crew cut caught sight of them and jerked his head in their direction. The older man that he had been speaking to- the Sheriff judging by the badge and uniform, looked over as well. “Morning gentlemen,” the older man said.

The younger Centaur swallowed. “Uhh….Morning….” he replied hesitantly, voice horse from what he assumed was the bellows he’d let out while galloping around the woods.

“Okay, they’re awake. I’m leaving,” announced a slender, haughty looking male. He was the wolf that had started chasing them after they’d lost control of their Glamor outside the bar. He pushed himself off the tree he’d been leaning on looking irritated and impatient as he rolled his shoulder experimentally and shot the two of them a glare. The older Centaur guessed correctly that they had been the cause of whatever injury beset the wolf.

“Thanks again for the call, Jackson,” the Sheriff said to the young man. Jackson gave a snort though it wasn’t directed at the older man who really didn’t seem like the sort of person, human or not, that one would snort at.

Jackson looked at the other wolves pointedly. “I’m going back to the loft to finish packing and I don’t want to be bothered till I’m done. Pshyco Redcaps, horny Centaurs, vindictive Pixies; don’t care. I’m already behind so handle it on your own.” Despite the muddled fuzz they were listening through, each sharp word made the Centaurs feel a little guiltier but the Werewolves were just rolling their eyes at their pack mate.

“Sorry we had to pull you away from folding socks,” The baby-faced werewolf scoffed, “but it’s not like you could have ignored them. Even you aren’t that callous.” This wolf had a brown uniform similar to the Sheriffs. Deputy?

Jackson looked affronted. “I have a 16 hour flight tomorrow night with at least 5 hours of layovers. Trust me, I totally could have ignored them. I’d say I’m a model of human civility for calling in the 911. Your welcome.” 

When Jackson turned to leave a larger, dark skinned man called out. “Jackson, give me a ride back to my place will you?” Jackson sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, waving his hand for him to follow. “Derek, I’ll be at my house if you need me,” the taller one informed with a wave to the others.

When the two disappeared in the trees the Pack refocused on the two Fae they’d spent the better part of a half hour subduing. Now that the buzzing in their ears was completely gone the two Centaurs looked justifiably remorseful and they had their four legs tucked under them waiting for their reprimand like children who'd been caught doing something bad. They were fully aware of how deep the shit they were in was and sort of hoped that they got to leave with all their limbs still attached and functioning. Causing trouble in Beacon Hills wasn’t on a list of smart things to do.

They looked up when a short redhead walked over to them and knelt down, a tight frown on her face otherwise lovely face. She was shorter than them kneeling down like that but she was twenty feet tall the way she glared. She had a small scratch on her cheek and a longer one on her arm, tearing part of her sleeve. “Care to explain what two Centaurs in the middle of their rutting season are doing in our town uninvited?” Her question was light enough but her tone threatened severe irritation if they said anything stupid.

The older one spoke up first, finding his voice after a moment of staring. “We intended to stay for only an hour or two but then…” he shot a small glare at the younger man at his side some of the fear replaced by irritation. “My idiotic brother had to pick a fight with me over a cute bartender.”

“Bull,” the younger one said, affronted. "You butt into our conversation!”

“Quite!” the redhead snapped sharply. “My friends and I just spent twenty minutes running through the woods after you two getting bucked around like rag dolls so I don’t want to hear about your failed conquests. Now tell me what you’re doing here before I really get pissed off.” The steel in her eyes glinted dangerously. “Who are you?”

The older Centaur took a deep breath, feeling his muscles twitch anxiously as he looked away from the young woman's cold green eyes. “Yes, of course. Sorry… Miss Martin, right?”

If she was pleased about being recognized she didn’t show it. “Lydia is fine. Now. Names.”

The Centaur nodded quickly. “My- my name is Dantilion. Dan,” he added when Lydia’s eyebrow twitched. “This is my brother, Hector.” He motioned to the younger man at his side. “I swear we are just passing through. Just visiting.”

The brunette female a few feet away spoke up next, crossing her arms. Allison Argent; the Hale Packs’ human Huntress. She was as pretty as the redhead but in a much more classical way with a sweet face and toned build. “Visiting who?" She asked. "Last I checked we don’t have any Centaurs living in town.” Dan eyed the young woman clad head to toe in black and toting a crossbow on her hip.Rumors of the Argent family were more than enough to send a chill up any Faes’ spine never mind that a Banshee was giving them the evil.

Hector avoided the direct gazes of the two women and instead stole glances at the others wondering if he could find more sympathy in one of the other betas. “We’ve heard stories about Beacon Hills and about all of you and since we were on route anyway we thought it would be a good idea to check it out. And maybe….well, see if we could catch a glimpse of you guys."

Lydia smile was rather terrifying in its sweetness. “We’re doing our jobs here, Hector. We’re not an attraction.”

“We know!” Hector scrambled, leaning his upper half away from the Banshee. “We didn’t mean to cause trouble. We drive trucks and this was a pit stop. We seriously were just curious about this town. Like I said,” his eyes scanned the Pack with a mixture of fear and respect, “we’ve heard the rumors.”

There was rustling near the edge of the clearing. “What, we make the news or something?” This young man was probably the tallest of the bunch with a mess of curly blond hair. He was sitting next to a she-wolf dressed in tight workout clothing and dark eye shadow. Isaac Lahey and Erica Reyes; Hales’ Betas. Crazy on their own levels but loyal to a fault where their Pack was concerned.

“Don’t be an idiot, Isaac.” The patronizing cultured tone from an older wolf could only be one person. Peter Hale- as disturbing as the rumors suggested. He shook his head at the curly haired beta. “Danny has his eyes on the tabloids.”

“Word still gets around,” Hector said with a small, tentative shrug, hesitant to address someone who’d been rumored to attempt to kill his own family. Multiple times. He shifted his large body behind him when his older brother nudged him in a bruised rib. It was uncomfortable to stay in a kneeling position for so long especially when there were two sets of legs to accommodate but they didn’t dare move; not when they’d already done so much to aggravate the guardians of this territory.

A deeper voice, a growl almost, spoke next and Dan’s spine straightened. The man that walked up beside Lydia was muscular, wearing a shirt that left little to the imagination. He had a thick head of dark hair and gloriously defined features, light scruff on his chin and cheeks. His eyes were heated as he looked down at the two of them. “Maybe you two should loose the hooves for now.” His eyes flashed scarlet for a split second and then faded back to an earthy hazel. “We won’t bite.” No introduction was needed for Derek Hale.

The two brothers glimpsed at each other and Dan finally nodded in agreement with the Alphas suggestion. When they Glamoured up their human forms again, horse-half shrinking into two human legs. Dan grew a small beer gut where there had once been chiseled abs and Hector shrunk a good three inches. They slowly got to their feet, pants the same color as their horse forms having magically appeared on their lower halves though their shirts remained tattered and stranded back at the soccer field. Hector looked a little less rattled than his older brother once he was allowed to stand but was still respectfully fearful of the Alpha Werewolf in front of him. “You’re… Alpha Hale, right?”

The dark haired man nodded, still frowning at them impatiently. “I am, and I don’t discourage visitors but it’s bad manners to start rampaging in plain sight. If Jackson hadn’t caught your scent coming out of the bar you could have hurt someone.”

“It wasn’t our intention to cause trouble, Alpha Hale,” Dan insisted.

“Well,” a tan skinned wolf interjected as he helped Isaac and Erica to their feet. “At least most of the people here have seen a Centaur before.” Dan and Hector recognized him as Scott McCall, the True Alpha and Second to Alpha Hale.

Derek rolled his eyes a bit at the other. “Doesn’t matter, Scott. Officially everyone is a civilian. That’s why they live here.”

“Well said boys, but let’s deal with the situation at hand shall we?” the Sheriff interrupted. He’d long since holstered his gun and had his rifle over his shoulder, arms crossed in an authoritative manner. He was intimidating for an older human but still looked friendly enough even when his stern lawman expression was turned on them. “Since you were leaving anyway I trust you can find your own way out of town? Otherwise I can have Derek or Ethan escort you to the county line.” He motioned to Derek and the young faced beta who the brothers now guessed was one of the twins that had run with Deucalion’s Pack all those years ago. News of their demise had certainly stirred the supernatural community.

Hector shook his head, eyeing the two wolves flanking the older human and shifted restlessly on his feet like he still had four legs “No, that won’t be necessary, Sheriff. We’re leaving as soon as we get back to our trucks.”

They were about to do just that when “Better avoid any strip joints on the way to your destination.”

The brothers turned to the side simultaneously and finally spotted a tall, trimly built young man with a mess of brown hair staring at them. He wore a red sweatshirt and was leaning against a tall tree, still as a rock. He had a little smirk on his face and his amber colored eyes caught the afternoon light through the leaves. Dan reached up and rubbed the raw stripe of skin on his neck remembering the iron chain that had encircled it for a terrifying minute before he was brought down. He saw the same long chain dangling around the human’s neck.

“Yeah, we’ll steer clear till the ruts’ passed,” Hector assured him with a small laugh, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I’d hate to have to kick my bro’s face in over a nice ass. Again.”

Dan returned the smile but his eyes flit back to the pale human. Centaurs were usually pretty good at identifying between Fae and human; a perk that came with living so long and loving to collect knowledge and stories. He’d been able to sense it on the Sheriff, the Banshee, and the Huntress right away but this one... was a little muddled. He recalled whispers he’d heard that the young man suddenly reminded him of. It had sparked his interest nearly as much as the rumors of the pack in Beacon Hills but something he would have never thought related. A magic user in red. All that was missing was…

Dan nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the young man’s eyes flicker pale violet.

“Gods,” the older centaur breathed. His brother looked at him with a raised eyebrow but a moment later he felt the strange tug of magic too and his eyes snapped towards the human. It all clicked into place then. Cloaked in red with violet eyes which as a human were as gold as a betas. The man with magic in his blood and on his skin. "Oh...," Hector started with wide eyes, only to look at his brother who nodded in agreement. 

Derek looked between the Centaurs and the young man, standing a little straighter as though he sensed a threat. “Problem?” he asked, voice suddenly pitched with wariness.

At the Alphas question Dan jumped and blinked. “N-no, uh, not at all. I just…we didn’t know that you knew…” he motioned to the human and gave a nod towards him, expression wary.

Scott pulled a confused face and eyed his companion. “Stiles?” He glanced back at the Centaurs hesitantly. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “We grew up together.” He frowned at his friend and pointed his thumb at the two Centaurs with a questioning eyebrow raised.

The blond wolf, Erica, let out an exasperated groan. “Batman, seriously, you say you want to keep a low profile but everyone already knows you.”

“No,” Dan said quickly, shaking his head. “No, we’ve never met. I mean we’ve just heard rumors about him." Did _anyone_ know that the magic user and Beacon Hills Pack knew each other? Dan very much doubted it. "We didn't realize that you were all acquainted....The last I heard, Red was still working out of New York.”

Stiles clapped a hand over his face and the wolves suddenly grinned, looking back at him. “Red?” Erica beamed. “As in-?

“Little Red Riding Hood?” Isaac finished, stressing each word, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh my god, guys,” Stiles groaned, rubbing his temples, “Shut up. It's Peters fault that nickname even got started.”

Peter held up his hand trying to look innocent. “It was a slip of the tongue at a social gathering. Who knew there was a pair of Hunters at the next table.”

“You did,” Stiles said. “You’re just an ass who lives to make me miserable. Scott, stop laughing!”

Of course Scott didn’t stop and the Centaurs were stunned into silence. “Dude, throw away your messenger bag,” Scott snickered. “I’m so getting you a wicker basket!”

“Okay, alright,” came the louder voice of the Sheriff who held up his hands. “As much as I’d like to say I grasp what that whole conversation was about, how about we focus on getting our friends back to their trucks. Ethan, you can go with them, and Derek you’re coming back to the station with me to fill out some paperwork.”

“Haha,” Ethan said lightly to his Alpha and the Sheriff cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Don’t know why you’re laughing. You’re finishing whatever we don’t get done in an hour.”

“Haha,” Derek mimicked at the beta. Dan’s eyes widened in surprise when Stiles flicked the gloating Werewolf on the shoulder.

“I’m going to take Allison to see Melissa at the hospital,” Lydia announced finally. “I’m fairly certain she’s got a sprained wrist.” The Huntress gave a little smile and shrug when Dan looked at her guiltily.

Ethan motioned for Dan and Hector to follow him. “Come on, let’s get going so the soccer team can get back to their practice.”

“And a little warning next time you feel like staying in town this time of year,” Derek added. Both Dan and Hector nodded firmly.

As they followed Ethan back through the trees Dan happened to glance behind and caught sight of Derek standing close to the human he knew by word of mouth and description to be Red. The Alpha leaned close to the human and Stiles closed the rest of the distance, touching their foreheads together lightly before they parted. He hugged the Sheriff and waved as the older man walked off with the Alpha.

When he turned to face the front again Dan noticed his brother staring at him. They both shared an equally relieved look. They weren’t sure how Red was related to the Hale Pack but if getting chased down by the wolves wasn’t intimidating enough, knowing _that_ man ran with them was enough to make them want to send a notice a week in advance if they ever came back to Beacon Hills again.

-

After Dan and Hector left Stiles started to wonder just how many people in Beacon Hills might know him on sight and just hadn't said anything yet. It was concerning to say the least.

Stiles bid Derek and his father farewell, making sure that the Alpha knew he’d be giving him a good once over when he got home because yes, he’d seen Dan kick him in the back of the head and no one had really proven that Werewolves couldn’t get concussions. He retrieved his small bag from the back of Allison’s car and Lydia, in a quite motherly fashion brushed some dirt out of Stiles’ hair saying she would come by the Pack house after stopping at the Argents. No doubt she wanted to update the Bestiary section on Centaurs and add that they spooked when an explosion went off behind them but not so much in front of them. Stiles commented on it, asking if she’d already compiled a mental list and Lydia huffed. “It’s called time management, Stiles.”

Erica pulled out her phone and called for a cab of all things, insisting it was a necessity because that she worked tomorrow morning and she was too tired to walk all the way back. Plus she wanted to stop and get some takeout. Neither Scott, Isaac, or Stiles were about to argue with that.

“You think I’d be used to picking you guys up in odd places by now,” the short, rugged looking cabby said to Isaac who was sitting in the front. The Wolf chuckled a bit as the car was put into drive. “Well, the woods are better than the compost at least,” Isaac offered.

The Wolf chuckled a bit as the car was put into drive. “Well, the woods are better than the compost at least,” Isaac offered.

The cabby shuddered as if remembering the ordeal. “Tell me about it. I had to get the car detailed after that fare.”

It had only taken the driver about 9 minutes to get to arrive and Stiles wondered if he was one of the many new Fae that had moved in. It sounded like he was the official Pack cabby or something. He tossed his razor-affixed gloves into the bag and zipped it shut, noticing Scott trying to sneak a peak inside.

“Dude, what have you got in there?” Scott asked.

“A rabbit, some colored scarves and those rings that snap together,” Stiles deadpanned.

“….Are you serious?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yes Scott. I seriously keep a rabbit in this bag because I know eventually one of you will pull out your Werewolf oven and demand a snack.”

“Stow it,” Erica said, elbowing Scott who was seated between her and Stiles. “Don’t we have more important things to talk about?”

Scott frowned at the blonde. “Weren’t you the one going on about how you wanted to see all his new stuff earlier?”

“Yeah, during practice,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. “And then I got my wish when I saw him uppercut a rampaging Centaur.” Stiles saw the cabby’s raised eyebrow in the rearview mirror. “Now can we please get back to the topic of Stile’s ridiculous nickname suddenly striking fear into the hearts of horse-men everywhere?”

Stiles let out a small moan and tipped his head back against the seat. “Jesus, this again? I told you, Peter is to blame for that crap. That dumb name followed me all the way to the city.” Of all people, a Warlock he'd been paired up with had been the one to bring it up out of the blue. Marabeth had a ball when she found out and then he had to endure the damn thing for the entirety of his stay. Stiles found it a little insulting to be named after a little basket-wielding girl who couldn’t tell her grandma from a freaking wolf in a nightcap because Little Red Riding Hood didn’t hang out with wolves like he did. She hadn’t kicked one in the face so hard two teeth shattered. She relied on some dude with a gun and a knife to take care of the bad guys and Stiles had both weapons on his person at any given time. Little Red Riding hood was a fairy tale. Red however, was real and was sort of craving curly fries right about now.

“You’re going to share some stories eventually, right?” Erica needled. “I mean, the time you blew up the fast food joint because of fairies was hilarious, but you didn't tell us anything about the other stuff like Charlotte or the other Vampires. You said there were more Nests after that first one, right?”

Stiles was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable when Scott nudged him. His expression was not as jubilant or curious as Ericas. “Nothing really bad happened, right?” the True Alpha asked earnestly. “You would have told us, right?”

Stiles gave his friend a small smile. He could lie easily and say it was all hugs and puppies but Scott deserved better. They all did. And a better version of himself was what Stiles was now. Even if he was sort of keeping them in the dark. A little. “It wasn’t all bad, Scott, but it wasn’t all good either. I just... I learned a lot.” And Stiles honestly hoped he didn’t have to use most of that knowledge again. If he did that meant shit had hit the fan.

Scott sighed softly knowing that was all he’d get out of the other. They were all quiet for a moment or two and then Scott asked suddenly, a glint in his eye, “So…. if we start spreading that name around here think our reputation will go up a few notches?”

“Don’t you dare, Scott McCall,” Stiles ordered seriously. He knew his friends didn’t fully understand the story that name represented for him. And others. He didn’t really want them to. Not if it wasn’t necessary.

“We won’t say anything,” Isaac assured him, reaching behind his seat to swat at Scotts leg. He looked over his shoulder at their Emissary and the amber-eyed brunette gave him a grateful nod.

After a good fifteen minutes of driving and a stop at a diner drive through where they practically filled up the car, they reached their destination. The taxi driver nodded to the four of them when he came to a stop at the end of the long gravel driveway leading up the hill. Stiles was still blown away by the sight of the house, sitting there like something off a postcard. He then remembered something important and looked at his friends. All of whom had run to fight the Centaurs straight from their training in the woods. “Um…Anyone have their wallets?” he asked.

Scott blinked and pat his pocket, knowing very well his wallet wasn’t there. Isaac had his but no spare cash after the diner stop. Erica, practically wearing spandex, obviously didn’t have cash on her. Stiles bit back a small groan. He had a slight fear of stiffing cab drivers after doing it only once in New York. He couldn’t help it if the goblin was getting away and all he had on him was a 13th-century holy sword. _I’m prioritizing your life over job I'm sorry!_ He had shouted over his shoulder at the cursing cabby.

Both Scott and Isaac shared sheepish looks and Isaac glanced at their driver. “Uh, I don’t suppose we can owe you, Mikey?” Scott asked.

“Oh, for-,” Erica sighed, exasperated. “I can run into the house for my wallet. Can you wait out here for a minute with the useless boys, Mike?”

Mike looked over his shoulder and winked at her, eyes turning yellow while his pupils widened sideways. Goat eyes. “No charge little missy.” Stiles blinked and both Isaac and Scott sighed in relief.

“Is there like a Pack discount card I don’t know about?” Stiles asked. They’d hadn’t been charged full price on their food either and that was about $150 worth.

Erica purred, “Nah, Mike is just as sweetheart who does me a million favors.”

“Still one favor you could do for me, gorgeous,” Mike started.

“Not going on a date with you, Mike,” the blond interrupted. “I don’t do Satyrs.” Isaac let out a snort at the choice of phrase and Erica let out a harmless growl.

Mike laughed and clapped a hand over his heart. “Ow, love. Someday. Someday you’ll fall for me. Once you go Satyr you never go back!”

Erica popped open her door and Stiles mirrored the action with a small smile on his face. Satyrs. God love the horny little bastards.


	20. What did you do Deaton!?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 29, 10:38 AM  
> From: Kira  
> Scott, Seriously. If you weren’t over a thousand miles away I’d kick your butt. Have you been able to reach Stiles at all? I thought he was just busy at first but he always responds to my messages after a day and I’ve left five! Can you try? Do you know if he’s okay? Please don’t make me call Stile’s dad, because I will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Kira and Scott are a long distance thing. She is still a part of the story. Kira is adorable. A girl Scott. Or Scott is a boy Kira.

It was a text that had Scott panicking and running through the Pack house calling for Stiles. Isaac and Erica poked their heads out of their rooms and looked down the hallway that the True Alpha had fled down, quiet as a bulldozer. 

“Stiles. STILES, oh my god!!” Scott practically burst into the library, startling the two people curled up on the couch together. Stiles nearly dropped a book but Lydia glared, pissed off that she’d been interrupted. 

Stiles looked at his friend expectantly. “Yes Scott?” He asked very slowly.

“Stiles,” Scott repeated, wide eyed and pointing at his phone like it had bitten him. “I lost my phone the night you came back and the battery died. I just found it again in the linen closet and charged it.”

Stiles resisted asking why it was there in the first place but thought better. He didn’t want to know. “Congratulations?”

Scott was shaking his head brows furrowed in anxiety. “I totally forgot to tell Kira you were back in Beacon Hills.” 

Scott and Kira had never stopped being a thing. Sure, Kira was a Kitsune and after her mother retired she became the nominal head of a clan of Kitsune on her mothers side so she had to hop back and forth from the U.S. to Japan, but despite the insurmountable evidence that they could never work, they had managed a very healthy long distance relationship. It was no surprise to everyone that after about 4 years of heavy dating Kira was considered an honorary member of the Hale Pack. She and Jackson had even flown back into the country for Aidens' funeral the year earlier, after the accident with the Shape shifter.

Stiles was quiet for a moment and then blinked at his friend, not quite grasping the direness of the situation. “…So? Tell her now.”

“Duuude,” Scott stressed, voice high in a whine, “You didn’t tell her either?” 

“No,” Stiles said slowly. “I haven’t been online for like, 4 days and I broke my phone when I was duking it out with those Red Caps.” Phones could apparently get bloodlogged just as easily as waterlogged. 

Scott put his face in his hand, shaking his head. “So Kira, who Skypes with us almost every day to make sure that we’re still alive, hasn’t had _any_ contact with you for days?” 

Lydia gave a little wince, a flicker of sympathy going out to Scott finally. Again, Stiles was silent for a moment before he said, “Shit.” Scott reaction made sense now.

“Yeah dude,” Scott nodded gravely now that Stiles was on board and held his phone out to his friend. Stiles took Scotts phone and read the list of missed messages, starting the night that Stiles got back. 

_February 1st, 10:03 AM. From Kira:_  
 _Hi babe, how are things over there? It’s really chilly in Kyoto right now but I have to be here for a conference. Boring! Also, have you heard from Stiles lately?_

_February 2nd, 7:06 PM. From Kira:_  
 _Scott, I’ve been trying to call Stiles phone but it keeps going to voicemail. Do you know if it’s broken?_

_February 2nd, 11:20 PM. From Kira:_  
 _I don’t want to be the naggy girlfriend but I’m going to do it anyway. Why aren’t you answering? I can’t get a hold of Stiles and I’m wondering if he’s okay. I have to be on a plane now so I’ll try calling you tomorrow._

_February 3rd, 9:26 AM. From Kira:_  
 _Scott McCall, I’m not kidding. You haven’t been online for two days and you wont answer my texts or pick up your phone. I bet you lost it and it died somewhere, didn’t it. You’re impossible Scott. I’m getting worried about Stiles and I’m seriously considering calling Derek and you know I hate calling him over nothing because that just makes him worry. And Lydia was busy with that whole research project, Isaacs been picking up more shifts at the vet….I really just don’t want to freak anyone out. So I need you to call Stiles. Last I heard he was tracking down some shifters with Marabeth and now he’s not answering his phone. And neither are you!_

_February 3rd, 10:38 AM. From: Kira_  
 _Scott, Seriously. If you weren’t over a thousand miles away I’d kick your butt. Have you been able to reach Stiles at all? I thought he was just busy at first but he always responds to my messages after a day and I’ve left five! Can you try? Do you know if he’s okay? Please don’t make me call Stile’s dad, because I will._

They all knew very well how protective the Kitsune had become of them. The last text had been sent only 25 minutes ago and Stiles wondered if his dad had actually gotten a long distance call from Japan yet. She’d offered multiple times to send a few members of her ‘family’ back to Beacon Hills to help them out with all of the supernatural issues But Chris and John vetoed any potential dealings with the Japanese supernatural underworld. They liked Kira, but no.

Lydia, who had read the messages over Stile’s shoulder closed her book calmly and let out a breath, reaching for her computer on the table. “I think it's time for our weekly Skype meeting, don’t you?”

"She's going to murder me," Scott muttered, sitting down on the couch next to Lydia.

"Don't be dramatic Scott," Lydia said. "At the most she'll electrocute you." She quickly pulled up the social media interface, logging on to her account- GREYlady (Stile’s idea)- and clicked on Kiras icon. They waited for the call to go through and in moments Kiras face popped up on the screen, like she’d been waiting for her chat button to start blinking. Her expression was so easy to read it should have been a novel titled _‘What the hell is going on?'_

“Hi hon,” Scott said weakly with a small wave. “Sorry I’m just getting back to you. I lost my phone and it died.”

Kira was having none of that and dove right in. _“Guys, I haven’t been able to get a hold of Stiles for four days now. He always responds to my message and I tried calling his phone but it goes straight to voicemail and-,”_

“Kira, calm down,” Lydia said, holding up a hand. “Stiles is fine. He’s-“ 

“Right here!” Stiles leaned in front of the camera with a big goofy grin on his face. The shriek Kira let out rivaled Ericas when she’d seen him. 

_“Stiles! Oh my god! You’re back!”_ the screen flickered with static, reacting to the Kitsunes emotions on the other end of the connection. _“Why haven’t you been answering my calls you jerk?! How long have you been back home?”_

Stiles scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “about three days now….”

Kira’s bright smile quickly pulled into a stubborn frown. _“Jeeze guys, one of you could have told me at least. I was almost planning to use one of my tails to find you and make sure you weren’t in trouble or something.”_

“That’s a little drastic,” Stiles said with a smile. He hoped Kira wouldn’t ever be that desperate to find any of them that she’d resort to that. And it would probably take another lifetime for him to be okay with seeing one of those ninjas again. 

_“Oh, I’m joking Scott,”_ Kira said gently. Stiles had felt his friend tense at his side, emanating worry for his long distance girlfriend. _“But seriously, one phone call would have saved me a lot of worry. And you, Scott, need to keep better track of your phone!”_

“We’ve been pretty busy over here,” Lydia said, pushing Stiles shoulder a bit so she could have some screen time. “And just so you know, you can always call us when Scott looses his phone again or when Stiles gets blood on his and breaks it.”

 _“Blood?”_ Kira asked, worry clouding her face.

“Not mine,” Stiles assured her quickly. “Got jumped by some Redcaps when I got into town.” 

Kira made a face. _“Ew. Scott, are you sure Derek doesn’t want me to send some people over to help you guys with them?”_

“Seriously, even Kira knew about them?” Stiles said incredulously, staring wide-eyed at the redhead. “She’s in another _country!_ ”

“Let it go, Stiles,” Lydia sighed. “Let it go.”

 

Once Kira was brought up to date on the supernatural going-ons in Beacon hills Isaac and Erica poked their heads into the library. Stiles glanced to the side and caught sight of them, beckoning them over. “Come say hi to Kira!”

 _“Who’s that?”_ Kira asked, craning her head like she could break the 2-D barrier of the computer screen. 

Erica perched on the back of the couch behind stiles and wrapped her legs around his torso while Isaac stood less limpet-like next to her and leaned down so he was in the frame. “Hi Kira,” Erica grinned. “How’s Yakuza life treating you?”

Kira rolled her eyes but smiled as well. _“You know, now that I actually know a few Families here I’m going to consider that a compliment. And apparently I’m in the boring country because I have never seen a Centaur.”_

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Stiles said with a wave of his hand. “They just need to get laid.”

Lydia slapped his arm lightly. “Back to what we were talking about earlier,” she reminded. 

_“Oh, right,”_ Kira said. _“Stiles, I was wondering if you knew anything about Ley Lines. They are apparently some huge thing here and my mom and I have been getting these dizzy spells. She said it’s the LeyLines but wont really elaborate. Dad tried to explain it but his teacher was showing and it all went over my head.”_

Stiles nodded, remembering Mr. Yukimuras' lessons. He certainly got descriptive in the history department. “Ley Lines are like alignments between areas of importance, like a road of pure magic that runs all around the world connecting shrines, and graveyards and crossroads and all that stuff. Japan is so steeped in mythology and legend I’m guessing there are hundreds of them crossing all over the country. The Nemeton is actually on a crossroads for one some of the Ley Lines in Beacon Hills.”

“Which explains why its such a pain in the ass,” Scott muttered. 

“Not necessarily,” Stiles argued. “With magic, everything is interconnected. The Druids think that the Ley Lines are like magic’s neural network. They can shift and pulse whenever the magic in the world is growing or changing. Most supernatural creatures and Fae can feel the shifts.”

 _“Do I need to be worried if the Ley Lines are shifting?”_ Kira asked. She glanced to the side and reached out, thanking someone who had brought her a cup of tea. _“Is there even anything we can do about it?”_

Stiles thought for a moment. “Little shifts are normal. Magic fluctuates all the time but it's pretty good about balancing itself out.”

 _“Hmm,”_ Kira hummed and she sipped her tea. _“Seems like a Druid thing…maybe I should contact Deaton about it and see if he’s got some books to recommend.”_

“We can ask him for you,” Lydia offered. “Stiles has to go see him anyway.”

The wolves immediately felt irritation prickle through the air and they looked at Stiles. Erica rubbed the man’s shoulders lightly, tilting her head to the side to get a better look at him. “You’re best bet is going to a nearby temple to talk to the priestesses,” Stiles said, tone a little more edgy than before. “They’ve got generations of experience looking after these types of things and they’ll be able to tell you if anything is going on. I haven’t noticed any unusual fluctuations here but I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Seriously, Stiles,” Lydia, rolling her eyes and then fixing all her attention on her friend. “ _What_ did Deaton do to piss you off so bad?”

“He’s a lying liar who lies, Lydia,” Stiles said defensively and completely unproductively. 

“You are _going_ to see him tonight if I have to get a Werewolf to drag you there,” the Banshee declared. 

“I don’t need an escort,” Stiles argued.

“So you’ll go see him on your own?” Isaac asked with a tilt of his head. Stiles glanced off to the side Lydia smirked. 

“Yeah, Isaac, make sure he gets there.” The beta gave the Banshee a salute. They couldn’t have their Emissary fighting with their Druid after all. Bad for moral. 

 

\---

 

Derek came home about ten minutes after they’d finished up their chat with Kira and he was in a mood. He shut the front door a little harder than necessary and saw Stiles and Isaac sitting in the living room taking advantage of the big screen TV to watch _Red Dwarf_ with almost hesitant expressions on their faces. He smelled lukewarm diner food in the kitchen and smelled the lingering scent of Erica’s shampoo, Lydia’s perfume, and Scott’s cologne. Isaac perked up a bit when he heard his Alpha and he gave Stiles head a small tap where it rested on his leg.

Derek deposited his keys on a small table by the door. “Where are the others?” he asked, not hearing them in the house. 

“Erica said she’s going back to her parents house to see if she can find the rest of her t-shirts, Lydia’s in the library and Scott wanted to have a private chat with Kira so he’s barricaded himself upstairs.” Stiles made air quotes with his fingers without even looking at the other. “And Isaac is going to take me in to town to see Deaton in a while. I'm going willingly.” Isaac gave a small snort. 

Derek was curious as to why Stiles would need Isaac to take him when he had a car himself but he instead asked, “Scott and Lydia are still here?” He could have sworn he hadn’t’ sensed anything of the young woman, or heard Scotts voice in the house. Stiles raised a hand and took a breath as he closed his eyes. His outstretched hand curled into a fist like he was grabbing on to something and he pulled down. Derek took an aborted step when he could suddenly hear the lone analog clock ticking upstairs and the rustling of pages in the library. Scott was laughing somewhere upstairs. 

Isaac grinned. “Stiles put up noise dampening wards all over the place before you got back.”

“No house I live in allows for easing eavesdropping,” Stiles declared in a way that made the wolf inside Derek happy that its mate was making the house his own. But his mood prior to persisted and the frown was back in place as the noise around him slowly dampened to what would have been equivalent to a humans hearing range again. “Isaac, I need to talk to Stiles for a minute,” he said.

The tall beta looked up at Derek, slightly startled, an appearance mirrored by Stiles. “Am I in trouble?” Stiles asked instantly, sitting up. Derek only crossed his arms, leaning to the side impatiently. 

“I suddenly remembered I have things to do.” Isaac quickly shot up from the couch and hurried upstairs to his room. 

Stiles’ eyes stayed on Derek and he put his elbows on his knees, leaning forward a bit. “You’re looking extra sour today,” he said. “Seriously, am I in trouble?” Derek really tried not to smirk at the mischievous look on the younger mans face, wary but curious. 

Derek raised a hand and crooked a finger at Stiles, motioning for him to come closer. Stiles eyes narrowed skeptically for a moment but he stood from the couch and walked forward. “Are you going to mime this whole thing for me? Because I will totally put words on your mouth that get me lots of sex.”

It was getting really hard not to let a grin sneak out. God he’d missed this obnoxious mouth. Thankfully Derek got his voice to remain low with chastisement. “Let's talk about those Centaurs shall we?”

The look of shock that registered on Stiles face almost had Derek losing control of that barely held back laugh. _No_ , he had to remind himself. _You’re mad. You’re supposed to be mad._

“The fight? What I do? I thought we kicked ass! We knocked out two rampaging fully grown Centaurs in less than an hour! What could you possibly be giving me those eyebrows for and why are you getting so close man, hey, you can’t scent me while we’re arguing Derek its OW-!”

Derek bit down hard on Stiles shoulder with human teeth and Stiles let out a sharp cry, knees practically buckling under him. “Ow, jesus Derek, what are you-“ His words cut off abruptly as Derek grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed the man roughly against a wall, making him stumble a few steps to cover the distance. Arousal punched through the air and Derek breathed it in, wolf growling in his chest. He loved that Stiles got off on a little danger. A little pain. He’d chalked it up to a teenage thing years ago, but it had persevered. Derek sensed it after fights when the high of adrenalin was wearing off. Satisfaction. Pleasure that they’d come through again; on top. Still though, Derek felt he had to make a point. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that you need to fill me in before you do something idiotic?”

Stiles’ chin tilted up defiantly, refusing to acknowledge that the color in his cheeks was anything other than defiance. “What, idiotic thing? I warned you I was going to jump on him!”

“Telling us to _clear a path_ is not a warning Stiles,” Derek rumbled. He gave the mans shirt a small shake and Stiles grabbed his wrists to keep steady, already on his toes. 

“Come on, Sourwolf,” Stiles smiled cheekily. “You missed my reckless ass, admit it.” His fingertip gently slid along the skin of his knuckles. 

“Reckless is one word for it,” Derek huffed. His eyes traveled along one of the faint brown lines etched into Stiles skin at his collarbone. He still had yet to see it all in normal light so Derek really had no idea the extent of his Emissaries tattoos. “Normally there would have been some hesitation on your part, or at least something resembling an acknowledgment that they whole thing was a horrible idea but you charged right in. You were totally calm about it like you were a hundred percent sure it would work even though you had no guarantee. I think spending time with Marabeth made you more suicidal.”

Stiles snorted, squirming a little in Dereks hold and the wolf had to keep himself from growling as the air saturated with desire. “Let's not kid ourselves. I’m always going to be jumping head first into everything and getting into trouble that you have to bale me out of. That’s who I am and that’s why you are so devastatingly attracted to my crazy ass. Difference now,” Stiles said with a positively brazen grin, “Is that I can back up my bullshit.” His smile grew a little more devilish as his hands moved down to Derek’s wrists where the older man felt the hum of something warm. 

Derek carefully set his Emissary on the floor again and reached out, hands coming to rest on his narrow hips, claws barely retracted. Derek really couldn’t deny that the recklessness was a huge freaking turn on, especially when Stiles handled it so well, but he felt a little uncomfortable about it. Who exactly had made Stiles this way? Made him think that this reaction to a near death experience was normal? His mouth was set in a stubborn line and the playful smile faded from Stiles face. 

“Hey,” Stiles said a bit more calmly, one hand reaching up to touch the other mans cheek. “Hey, Der, It’s okay. You’ve got to trust that I’m a lot better at what I do than I was 11 months ago. I still can’t even believe I can do half the crap I did back in New York. Choking a Centaur with an iron chain was a cakewalk.”

Derek wondered if Stiles really thought that to be a comforting sentence. “Do you even hear the words that come out of your mouth sometimes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. Stiles just laughed and lightly scratched at the fuzz on Derek’s cheek. Derek smoothed his hand up the front of Stiles wrinkled shirt, brushing over the toned muscle underneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. He got it. Really he did. Stiles was different. He was faster, and smarter about his actions. And the magic. What little he’d seen so far was already impressive. It was real battle tested offence. However, Derek couldn’t help but worry. It felt like Stiles came home with a few more secrets than he’d left with and that put him on edge. He wanted to be 110% certain that Stiles could handle anything, but he just…wasn’t. Not yet. 

The older man sighed finally; knowing any other objection he had would be rebutted logically, like it always was. “I can’t believe you still have this sweatshirt.”

Stiles made a small sound between a laugh and a snort, the tension easing out of his shoulders “I know right? I just can’t bring myself to get rid of it. It’s so damn comfy.” It was the exact same sweatshirt Stiles had worn the night he and Scott ran out into the woods to check out the sheriff’s latest crime scene. Thank god Peter had only attempted to kill Laura that time or his whole relationship with the Pack would have been severely different. “I suppose that kind of spurred on the whole Little Red thing though….” Stiles added with a small frown. 

The mention of the nickname that literally had the Centaurs heart rates spiking made Derek start. “You do seem to have quite a reputation already, Stiles.” He made the young man meet his gaze, hands slowly working to the center of his back, pulling him closer. His voice dropped low. “Are you sure you cant tell me about what happened in New York?”

Stiles flushed lightly and Derek sort of felt like he was cheating, but hey, it worked. 

“I….” Stiles held Derek’s gaze and he could hear the man’s heartbeat pick up. The heavy scent of anxiety and agitation drifted off the Emissary and Derek was starting to think they’d all underestimated the reason Stiles was so against seeing the vet. Stiles didn’t let off that smell unless it was serious. “Derek… I learned some things about myself in New York. It's weird. Well, strange. Marabeth knew about it the moment I walked into her shop that…I mean, I should have known too but there were circumstances and no one was able to tell me and-,“ He cut himself off abruptly and swallowed before he charged on again, the nervous scent turning slowly taking on the sharp bite of irritation. “Deaton totally knew. God he is such an asshole Derek, with all his Druid ‘I can't upset the balance’ bullshit and just…just…-“ Stiles got tenser and tenser in his arms, fidgeting a bit till Derek finally gave the man a small shake and leaned in to latch his teeth onto the pale expanse of neck in front of him. It was out of habit really, something his wolf felt needed to be done in order to calm his distressed mate. For a split second Stiles tensed up even more and then he relaxed, letting out a breath as he even tipped his head to the side.

Derek felt his breath heat the man’s skin and he let go reluctantly when he heard his pulse even out. “So Deaton kept something from you,” he growled more than asked. He and Deaton had developed a good relationship over the years. The entire pack was comfortable going to him with questions and they’d lost count of the times his magical aid had saved their lives. But still, the relationship was more out of necessity than friendship. It was a fragile one. It had always been hard to trust the man even though he’d proven to be reliable. However for Stiles, who had really only ever known the Druid as his teacher and mentor, the trust had to go a little deeper and Derek was pretty confidant that there had been some real bonding between the two of them. Deaton wouldn’t have been so worried about his student while he’d been away otherwise. The Alpha was pretty sure the ex-Emissary had a soft spot for the sarcastic Spark. 

“Can you tell me what it is?” Derek asked softly, hands running light trails over the others back.

“Not yet.” Derek felt a stab of disappointment but Stiles continued. “I need to talk to Deaton first. I don’t want to, but I’ve got some questions for him.” Amber eyes found his, begging for just a little more time that Derek couldn’t help but give. “I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I get my answers from him.” Derek didn’t doubt it for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to take a guess at what Deaton did to piss Stiles off?


	21. Punch Deaton in the face bandwagon part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton closed his eyes and let out a long breath he’d been holding. “You don’t understand the situation Stiles.” 
> 
> “What situation,” Stiles probed, taking a step closer to the desk. “About how you lied to me from the very first time you saw me? Do you know what Marabeth said the first time she saw me, Deets? _Stiles, you take_ so much _after your mother._ ” The last part had Deaton stepping back out of instinct, placing more space between himself and his former student. That riled the young Emissary up even more. Stiles raised his hand as though he was about to swing but just brought it down after a tense moment and pointed at the other man. “Tell me why you never told me about her.” His voice was low and quiet; dangerous in a way that made the Druid noticeably nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spooooilerrrrrr! Druids.
> 
> unbeta'd as per usual. Sorry for errors.

Stiles didn’t want to get answers from Deaton. He knew what he was going to say so there was no point in talking to him. Why should he have to go out of his way to see the vet when it had been _Deaton_ that really wanted to have the meeting in the first place? Stiles wanted to avoid him for another few days. Weeks. Months. Maybe he could pretend that Isaac _didn’t_ work at the clinic. He could totally convince himself that Isaac worked at the library or something. That way he could give the Beta a questioning look whenever he was on the receiving end of the glances Isaac kept shooting at him since they started driving, silently asking with his eyes why Stiles was so mad at his boss. Stiles wasn’t mad at the head librarian after all.

“Stiles…don’t you think this is getting a little ridiculous?” Isaac said finally as he slowed at a crosswalk to let a few kids scuttle across the street. “Your frown is reaching Derek levels. That should be physically impossible.” He’d been driving under the speed limit the whole way for the sheer fact that Stiles reeked of tension and he hoped the extra few minutes helped.

Stiles ignored the comment, foot tapping as he stared out the window. “Maybe we should go back to the house,” he said. “I can find any info Kira needs on Ley Lines from Google and some contacts back in the city.”

“Do I need to show you the texts from Deaton again?” Isaac chided. “You have been avoiding him and wont tell anyone why.” They all knew for a fact that even Derek didn’t know because the Alpha was just as edgy about the subject as they were.

Stiles groaned and let his forehead hit against the window. “No. I already read the ones on Lydia, Danny, and Scotts phones.” Deaton had sent out a group text demanding that Stiles come see him as soon as he was free. And _demanding_ in Deaton-world really meant backing into a tight corner. Something along the lines of Werewolves and other supernatural creatures had to run their presence by Alpha Hale and after being away for SO long Stiles owed Deaton a face to face so they could talk Magic user to magic user. Stiles felt like he was being forced into it by some bull-shit Druid politics and did not appreciated being treated like a visitor who needed permission to stay in his own freaking hometown.

The clinic was in sight now and Stiles let his fingers drum on his leg as Isaac pulled into a parking space. The blonde took out the key and looked at Stiles, face pulled into an uncharacteristically serious frown. “Do you want me to go in with you?” Isaac had nothing against his boss. Deaton was nice to him an easy to work with and he’d certainly helped the Pack out, but if Stiles -someone who rarely avoided confrontation on his calmest day-, was this hesitant to see the man Isaac knew there must be a good reason. The thought that Deaton had done something to make their Emissary act this way already had the blond wolf baring its teeth.

Stiles blinked and met Isaac’s eyes like he finally realized that his emotions were spilling over onto the beta. He smiled softly. Instantly Isaac felt his wolf in him settle and stop its growling, calmed by the sight of the upset scowl leaving Stiles face. “No, it’s okay. Just wait out here. I wont be long.”

Stiles unbuckled and Isaac nodded, watching the young man slip out of the car and head into the clinic.

Deaton was already sitting at his desk facing the door when Stiles walked in. Normally the man would have met him at the front door like he would any of the other wolves, opening the warded gate to let him in human or not, but not now. Now he was just sitting there in his dark office like the Godfather, hands folded in front of him as he stared at Stiles with a mixture of anger and trepidation. Stiles pushed open the heavy gate, feeling the wards simmer under his fingers and walked in with quiet footsteps. The young man took a breath and shut the door behind him, schooling his features to calm though Deaton could feel the anger wafting off of him in waves.

“Hey, Deaton,” Stiles said nonchalantly, shoving a hand into his pocket. “I heard you’ve been trying to get a hold of me.” With Lydia’s prompting he’d changed out of his training gear and traded them out for a pair of fitted jeans and one of Dereks long sleeved v-necks. It made him look less like he was walking into battle the Banshee had said. The combat boots and the knife contained therein stayed however.

Deaton let his fingers drum against the table, eyes roaming over the younger man and spotting the tattoos that peaked out from the wide neck of the shirt and the piercings in his ear. The lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned. “It would have been much easier if you’d answer your phone when I called.”

“Got blood in it,” Stiles shrugged simply. “It broke.”

Deaton paused for a moment, considering those words and then shook his head, continuing. “Dropping off the map for almost a year was reckless, Stiles.” He said in a barely neutral tone that slid into something different at the next sentence. “Calling Marion for help was even more so.”

Stiles resisted rubbing at the bridge of his nose at the surge of barely contained irritation that surfaced when Deaton’s tone took on a scolding cadence. He looked around the familiar office where he’d spent so much time learning and dragging around his bleeding and half dismembered friends. He’d even been on the vets metal table more times than he cared to admit, the last of them being when he’d been oh so tenderly stabbed by a tree. He scanned over books he recognized and ones that Deaton had gotten after he left. “I hardly dropped off the map, Deaton. You knew where I was and you have Marabeth’s number.”

The older man sat a bit straighter in his chair. “And I’m sure she told you that we aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

Stiles continued walking around the perimeter of the office slowly without looking at the man. Through the window he saw Isaacs car parked just outside. “Guess she got fed up with your methods too.”

Deaton’s frown deepened at the simmering glare his young charge was giving him. “Stiles, I hardly-,”

The young man stopped him by talking over his words as though he hadn’t been listening. “My guess it was the _‘maybe if we ignore the problem it wont come back to bite us in the ass’_ method. That one is always fun. Especially you know, when it comes back to bite us in the ass.” Deaton barely got a chance to open his mouth again before Stiles cut in a second time. “Or my personal favorite, the _‘lets give everyone involved vague, cryptic hints and mysterious bull-shitty metaphors and watch them make complete asses of themselves while innocent people get hurt._ ” The young mans voice was light and calm but the screech of Deaton’s chair sliding back was loud and intrusive as he shot to his feet.

“We could have discussed this Stiles!” the older man said sternly.

“We _did_ discuss it!” Stiles shot back aggressively, throwing his hand out to the side in a cutting motion. “A hundred times before I even considered leaving! You said, and I quote _‘There is nothing more for me to teach you Stiles. Just have faith.’_ Biggest load of crap ever!”

“There _wasn’t_ anything else,” Deaton insisted, his boundless patience flickering a bit in the face of the younger mans accusations. “You are a Spark, Stiles. I can do many things but it is your belief that fuels your magic, not something out of a book.”

Stiles laughed suddenly, no humor in the sound. “So your response was to shrug say _believe_ the fucking baddies and evil things away? Try not to get killed?’”

“You know that’s not what I said,” Deaton argued visibly trying to keep his temper steady at a point that only Stiles had ever managed to get him to on a regular basis. “I guided you as best I could with the materials I had.” He stepped out from behind his desk. “Sparks that can actually harness the real potential of their gifts are rare. The aptitude you’ve shown for magic this far is actually quite extraordinary, so-,"

Stile fists clenched at his sides and snapped. “Mountain ash manipulation and salt circles hardly constitutes as aptitude Deaton. Not what I was doing with it at least.”

Deaton let out a sigh, more to give himself time to think than out of frustration at this point. “From what the rest of the Pack has been telling me you’ve been doing just fine with it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Thanks to Marabeth and the others finally filling me in.”

“Then perhaps it was a good thing that you studied with a Witch,” Deaton replied, a slight edge coming unbidden to his tone.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, anger flickering across his face. “I could have learned from _you,_ Deaton.” The vet glanced away too quickly. “But you didn’t want to teach me.” Stiles amber eyes narrowed. “In fact, you didn’t want _anyone_ teaching me. Marabeth said that you called her and told her to send me back.”

Deaton closed his eyes and let out a long breath he’d been holding. “You don’t understand the situation, Stiles.”

“What situation,” Stiles probed, taking a step closer to the desk. “About how you lied to me from the very first time you saw me? Do you know what Marabeth said the first time _she_ saw me, Deets? _Stiles, you take_ so much _after your mother._ ” The last part had Deaton stepping back out of instinct, placing more space between himself and his former student. That riled the young Emissary up even more. Stiles raised his hand as though he was about to swing but just brought it down after a tense moment and pointed at the other man. “Tell me why you never told me about her.” His voice was low and quiet; dangerous in a way that made the Druid noticeably nervous.

“Stiles,” Deaton began slowly, like he was talking to a wild animal. He could feel the energy leaking into the room, steady and thick enough to make the temperature rise. “Like I said before, Sparks like you are very rare, especially you. I still don’t have a lot of information on the potential-,”

 _“Cut the Bullshit for once Deaton!”_ Stiles shouted. His eyes seemed to glow purple in the dim light and Deaton had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Tell me exactly why you didn’t want me training with Marabeth. Why you didn’t want me to get help from Morell. Why you thought it would be a good idea to not tell me that I have the ability to be a hundred times more useful than I was!”

It was at that point that Deaton knew he was screwed but at the same time he felt an ache deep in his core at Stiles words. “What you did before was useful. You saved your Pack mates so many times already. I know that, they know that…you seem to be the only one who thought you weren’t doing enough.”

“FUCK you!” Stiles yelled loudly. For a split second amber eyes flashed unmistakably violet and the burner on Deaton’s desk suddenly sparked to life. The flame shot a foot high, lighting the room and expanding its diameter enough that Deaton felt the heat. The vet jumped in surprise, bumping the desk and the burner tipped over, lighting the trail of paper on fire.

“What in the-!” Deaton knocked some of the papers to the floor and quickly stomped them out but smoke was already choking the air. He doused the burner with the leftover coffee on his desk, not even caring about the mess it made. Once the flame was out Deaton went to the window and pushed it open, coughing a bit as he waved his hand in front of his face.

Stiles still looked angry but now slightly awkward. The Druid turned to face him, ashen, jaw tense. “Did you mean to do that, Stiles?” he asked carefully.

“Set your desk on fire?” Stiles asked, a wary tick in his voice. “No. But let’s be honest, now that you know I _can_ do it are you really going to try and make me feel bad about it?”

Deaton was about to say something but the look Stiles gave him made him pause and instead he let out a noisy exhale, sitting on the edge of his desk. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and then his eyes. “I’ll tell you this Stiles, you still keep me on my toes. When I started training you it took you three hours to even make a flame waver.”

Stiles looked at the charred papers on the floor. “Marabeth said that I had so much repressed potential she was surprised it only came out as ADHD.” The look in Stiles eyes hardened and the tension shot back up again. “Apparently it runs in the family.”

Deaton felt a chill run down his spine and he wisely remained silent.

Stiles steeled his jaw and dragged a spare chair over the strewn papers to Deatons desk, sitting himself down and leaning his elbows on it. Deaton almost took his seat again but for some reason he felt like he should remain standing. “You understand why I’m so incredibly pissed off at you, right Deaton?”

“Yes,” Deaton replied evenly.

“And you know that keeping that information from me was probably the dumbest thing you have ever done, right?”

The response was a little more hesitant, pride fighting with him for a moment. “…Probably.”

“No _probably_ , Deaton,” Stiles practically growled out. “You kept information about my mom from me and where she is concerned my tolerance for bullshit is nill. You fucked up.” Stiles sat back in the chair a bit and crossed his arms. “I think an apology is in order."

Deaton looked up then frowning like he thought the younger man was going too far. “Stiles, I don’t think that-“

“Alan,” Stiles said quietly, closing his eyes. His voice was composed but it silenced the Druid as though he’d slapped him in the face. Stiles usually remained respectful enough of his former teacher to use honorifics. The first name basis sent a shock through the Druid. “You were the first one that told me about all this Emissary and magic stuff. You helped me learn what I needed to stay by the Pack and help them. I’m never going to say I’m not grateful for that but you kept this from me for years. Before Scott was turned, before Derek, before the fire…” The young Emissary opened his eyes and Deaton felt magic hum in the air. Pale violet had replaced the warm whisky color once again.

Deaton felt frozen in his spot by those eyes and all he could do was nod slowly. “I should have told you Stiles,” the older man said, his pride suddenly giving way in place of self-preservation. “I’m sorry. You should have heard about your mother from me first, not Marabeth.”

Stiles let out a slow, steady breath and made his hands unclench. “Just….why didn’t you tell me Deaton? Did you think I would be able to handle it or something?”

The Druid thought carefully before he spoke. “Did I think that the magic you would want to learn after finding out would be dangerous? Yes. I know you better than you think Stiles. Don’t forget I was in your place years ago. I know exactly how far you are willing to go to protect your Pack.” Deaton held up his hand before Stiles could speak. “Nevertheless, I should have told you. You and John. Claudia was of higher rank in the Druidic Order than I was after all and I should have know that her magic would have shown up in her son as well.”

_\---_

Isaac needed to call someone. He had to right? This was just…a lot of information to keep to himself right now. Deaton’s office was warded much like the house, dampening sound and sensation to supernatural beings. When Stiles had gone inside he didn’t hear anything, not breathe nor heartbeat. That was normal though; Deaton’s place was neutral ground. He’d waited nervously by the car, shooting a random text to Scott to pass the time and then to Derek because he remembered Scott was at work.

While he waited for a reply he suddenly heard a noise and his head snapped to the side. A window flew open and smoke billowed out. Isaac straightened as his senses filled with the smell of smoke and Deaton coughing. He was just about to run into the clinic, panic nearly winning over, but then he heard the voices.

_“Did you mean to do that, Stiles?”_

_“Set your desk on fire? No. But let’s be honest, now that you know I can do it, are you really going to try and make me feel bad about it?”_

Wait, Stiles set Deaton’s desk on fire? Jesus, the man must have really messed up. Isaac heard Deaton sigh. _“I’ll tell you this Stiles, you still keep me on my toes. When I started training you it took you three hours to even make a flame waver.”_

Isaac remembered that. Stiles had lost a lot of shirts that way and Scott sacrificed his eyebrows.

 _“Marabeth said that I had so much repressed potential she was surprised it only came out as ADHD.”_ Isaac could feel the tension from outside and he shifted on his feet uncomfortably. _“Apparently it runs in the family.”_ He smelled Deatons fear. Fear? Why would Deaton be afraid of Stiles?

_“You understand why I’m so incredibly pissed off at you, right Deaton?”_

_“Yes,”_

_“And you know that keeping that information from me was probably the dumbest thing you have ever done, right?”_

Oh, god, just agree, Isaac found himself begging silently. He’d only ever heard this tone in Stiles voice once before, when Derek had made a bad call during a fight and Scott had nearly gotten thrown off a roof.

_“…Probably .”_

Stiles anger practically had a taste to it. _“No probably, Deaton! You kept information about my mom from me and where she is concerned my tolerance for bullshit is nill. You fucked up.”_

Wait, his mom? Isaac thought, phone clutched in his hand. What did Mrs. Stilinski have to do with any of this?

 _“Alan, You were the first one that told me about all this Emissary and magic stuff. You helped me learn what I needed to stay by the Pack and help them. I’m never going to say I’m not grateful for that but you kept this from me for years. Before Scott was turned, before Derek, before the fire…”_ Isaacs throat felt dry. Before any of this happened?

_“Nevertheless, I should have told you. You and John. Claudia was of a much higher rank in the Druidic Order than I was after all and I should have know that her magic would have shown up in her son.”_

Whoa, whoa, Stiles mom was a Druid!? Isaac swallowed hard. Wow, that was an interesting development. Then Isaac realized he had almost no idea what that meant. This is why Danny and Lydia were the magic users; they got this stuff. Still, it was big. He raised his phone and was about to dial Lydia’s number when he heard Stiles continue and his fingers stilled over the pad.

 _“Yeah, it sure as fuck showed up in me, Deaton, and you could have told me a long time ago. You could have at least pointed me in the right direction. You didn’t have to teach me you just had to give me the option. Do you know how many times I could have helped someone here with the power and knowledge I gained in the last few months? Those Witches that fucked with us last time? If I had known then what I know now I could have taken care of them before they even got to Beacon hills!”_ Isaac felt his stomach lurch. This was why Stiles left.

_“Stiles…”_

_“Christ, stop saying my name like you feel bad for me. If you haven’t got anything else to say I don’t want to hear it.”_ A chair slid across the floor and Isaac heard some shuffling steps inside.

 _“You’re right.”_ The footsteps stopped and there was a beat of silence as Isaac imagined Stiles staring Deaton down. _“You’re right, Stiles. I…was afraid of continuing your training. Marabeth must have warned you though. You are a Spark but you have an innate control over the elements inherited from your mother. Belief is still your greatest tool but now that you are also an Emissary and have a stronger hold of nature itself….”_

 _“I know, Deaton. I’m well aware.”_ Stiles sighed, sounding tired. _“That’s why I have the tattoos. I can’t really control the eye thing yet though. That just comes out whenever I’m a little irritated. I’m keeping a lid on it. It’s not like I’m using magic for fun; I’m responsible-ish.”_ Isaac almost snorted. He didn’t need to be a Werewolf to know that was a lie.

Deaton didn’t sound convinced either. _“Regardless, I would…. still like you to train with me. You, Danny, and Lydia; officially again. I might not be your favorite mentor at this juncture but I can still monitor your progress and offer advice.”_

Isaac waited with baited breath for the Emissary to answer and he even heard Deaton’s heartbeat - normally steady like a drum-, beat out a rapid tempo. Like he was worried Stiles would refuse his offer.

Then he heard Stiles snicker. _“Like you have a choice in the matter. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”_

Deaton gave an almost inaudible sigh of relief and some papers rustled. _“I’d never dream of it, Mr. Stilinski.”_ Isaac heard absolute truth in the older mans words.

Before Stiles footsteps sounded on the tile floor by the main door the curly haired young man had typed out a message on his phone.

 _February 3rd 6:00 PM, To: Lydia_  
_What do u know about Druids?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't build up the hype too much on that confrontation. I thought it was a pretty good reason for Stiles to be ticked off. 
> 
> would love comments. Comments are food for the soul. Soul is hungry.


	22. Punch Deaton in the face bandwagon part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It means,” Derek added, looking at his Emissary, hand still on the young mans knee as it had been for the past half hour, “That Stiles doesn’t have to follow the natural laws of magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised to LuciLucifer, Deaton gets some hand/fist time from an unlikely source and we have a short explanation on Magic users from Stiles and Lydia. I did hurt my brain a little with that so if you have any questions i'll do my best to answer them.

Stiles got in the car and shut the door. Isaac turned the key and stared out the front, knuckles white on the wheel. Stiles winced a little when he saw it and he let out a breath, leaning his head back on the headrest. “So….I take It you heard.”

Isaac pulled out of the parking space. “Yeah.”

“From what point?”

“When Deaton opened up the window…because you set his desk on fire.”

“It wasn’t the desk,” Stiles insisted. “It was papers on the desk.”’

“Like that’s the lesser of two evils?” Isaac asked with a raised skeptical eyebrow.

Stiles just rolled his eyes. “Okay, not one of my best moments but…you know.” He made a rolling motion with his hand and his mouth turned down at the corners in a sullen frown.

Isaac crossed an intersection and took a turn for the long way back home. “I do get why you were mad,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about this magic stuff but if it was about your mom then-,“

“It's not just about my mom,” Stiles interrupted, rubbing the side of his head like he was getting a headache. “Okay, well, it kind of is. I have a huge fucking problem with that bombshell but that's not the reason I’m pissed. It’s more the fact that I had all this power at my disposal that I _could_ have been using to help you guys and I didn’t even know it." Deaton had known that Stiles had a backpack full of dynamite but he gave him a firecracker.

Isaac was glad he had come to a stop sign because he couldn’t stop himself from turning in his seat to look at the young man and completely taking his eyes off the road. “Okay, I have to agree with Deaton on this," he said suddenly. "Stiles, you have always done everything you could to the best of your abilities. You were- _are_ fine as you are now. Don’t feel bad about things you couldn’t do in the past.”

Stiles stared at Isaac, blinking owlishly. More than the words themselves it was the conviction with which the man said them that hit the hardest. That type of assurance only came from something that had been discussed before. Something that had been reinforced by others. By a pack. His Pack. “I… thanks Isaac,” Stiles said quietly.

The blonde gave the other a firm nod and looked back at the road. After a moment though the impact of his own words seemed to catch up with him and a little color rose to his cheeks making Stiles grin. Little puppy. “Well, now I just have to figure out what to tell the Pack,” Stiles said. “Ugg, better yet, what to tell my dad.” That was going to be an interesting conversation about his late wife.

Isaac cleared his throat and Stile glanced at him. The look on his face said it all and the Emissaries eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you already called him. Oh my god, Isaac, you’ve only known for like five minutes!”

“What?” Isaac exclaimed, shifting in his seat nervously, “No, of course I didn’t tell your dad!” Stiles let out and sigh of relief. “I texted Lydia.” Stiles choked on the air.

“Isaac,” he whined, head hitting the back of the seat. If Lydia knew then Derek was going to know. And then Danny, then Scott, and then Jackson. Scott would call Allison and Allison would call her dad and Chris would call Peter. Erica and Boyd would find out by proxy and _some_ how Melissa would notify the Sheriff and by then his phone would have officially blown up from all the texts and calls. He knew the Werewolf phone tree idea would come back to bite him in the ass.

As luck would have it Stile’s phone started to ring with the song _Witchy Woman_ at that moment. “Hope you’re happy,” Stiles muttered to Isaac as he answered, tone forcefully cheerful. “Hey, Lyds, what’s up?”

_“Stiles, I want an explanation.”_

Stiles blinked, not missing a beat. “About what?” Ignorance was best at first.

_“About why Isaac is asking me about Druids. I know he took you to Deaton because I was the one who helped shove you into the car and Isaac works for the man so I want to know why he is asking me about Druids. Explain.”_

Isaac practically shrank under the glare Stiles leveled him with. Great, Isaac hadn’t told her outright but she was already on high alert. Super.

 _“Normally I’d let it slide but not when you are acting so damn weird,”_ Lydia snapped. _“So spill Stilinski.”_

“My mother was a Druid,” Stiles blurted out. “Deaton knew her. She was apparently wicked powerful and Marabeth told me that I’ve got Druid magic in me. I was born a Spark though and apparently that makes for a powder keg of potential." Lydia was silent on the other end of the line and for a moment Stiles though he’d lost her after his bout of word vomit. “Lydia?”

 _“Shut up Stiles, I’m thinking,”_ was her quick reply. Stiles closed his mouth and waited. _“Okay. So you’re part Spark part Druid. That’s why you’ve got all these new tricks up your sleeve? And speaking of up your sleeve; the tattoos. I will be needing a full explanation of all of them if they are what I think they're for.”_

“Okay.”

_“And don’t even try to talk your way out of it Stiles because I know where you live and I-…Wait, okay?”_

Even Isaac was looking at him like he’d grown another head. Stiles didn’t just…. consent.

“Yes, Okay,” Stiles repeated. “Lydia, I’m not an idiot. I have vague ideas of what’s going on with my magic but nothing concrete. I’m not going to be an Emissary like Deaton who hides things from his Pack to keep some freaking world balance. Screw that. If something’s going on with me, you guys get to know.”

 _“Oh,”_ Lydia’s voice was quiet like she was actually at a loss for words. But this was Lydia Martin. _“Oh, well, good. As it should be. Since Isaac texted me, I’m assuming that you haven’t told our Alpha yet, correct?”_

“You haven’t?” Stiles asked skeptically.

_“Of course I haven’t. I had even less information to go on than Isaac did. I wasn’t going to call Derek with some half-cocked theory. That’s just asking to be thrown up against a tree in the next training session.”_

Beside him Isaac snorted as he listened in. “Okay, good. I want to talk to my dad first so I’m going to go down to the station.” Isaac adjusted his route accordingly as he continued.

 _“You’re dad doesn’t know about it?”_ Lydia asked, concern evident in her tone.

“No,” Stiles sighed. “He doesn’t. He didn’t handle all this supernatural stuff very well when I first told him so I doubt he noticed anything different about my mom.”

Something in his voice must have wavered because Lydia asked immediately, _“Do you want Danny and I to meet you there?”_

A few years ago Stiles would have felt his heart skyrocket at the thought of Lydia offering to go through some harrowing ordeal with him but now he just felt a surge of fondness at the consideration of his friend. It was the same when Isaac offered to go into Deaton's office with him. “No, its okay Lyds. Derek will be there. Isaac will come in with me too.” At his side Isaac was already nodding in agreement.

Lydia let out a breath on the end of the line. _“Alright, if you say so. I’ll assume there will be a pack meeting tonight then so I’ll stay at the house. I’m sure we’ve got some books in the library that will be helpful so I’ll call Danny and we’ll write up some footnotes for you.”_

Stiles smiled softly out the window. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Lydia made a pleased sound and he could tell that she was feeling all sorts of smug. _“Just call me when you’re done, Stiles.”_

“Got it.” When he hung up he was feeling a little better about his impending conversation with the Sheriff though his confidence did waiver a bit when the station came into view.

 

Derek as it turns out was out on patrol with Ethan answering a call from a Nix who was having a neighborly border war with a Salamander spirit. They actually got on quite well for having opposite elements at their control but god forbid one of them over-trims the tops of the others privacy hedges. Apparently there was water damage and one of the hedges had been set on fire. Isaac was sitting in the corner of the Sheriff’s office while Stiles was opposite his dad at the desk. John had his head in his hands and they’d been sitting there in silence for a good two minutes.

John finally looked up at his son, fatigue and confusion showing on his face. “So Claudia knew about….” He motioned with his hand at the surrounding area. “All of this. From the start.”

Stiles nodded solemnly, hands fiddling a bit with the edge of his shirt. “Yeah.”

John sighed for the fifth time. He was used to the weirdness by now. Honestly he was, but Claudia was _before_ the weirdness. At least he’d thought she was. His memories of her were questionable now, as much as it broke his heart. Were there signs he’d missed? Something she’d said that hinted about magic? About their son?

“My list of reasons for wanting to clock Deaton is bordering on a small chapter book,” John finally said, rubbing his face.

Stiles laughed a bit as Isaac relaxed slightly, feeling some of the tension ease from the air. “We had some words already.”

His father raised an eyebrow. “Was this before or after you set his desk on fire?”

Stiles made an affronted sound. “Papers! God, his desk is metal.” He shut his mouth when he felt a small shiver run down his spine, lacing along the tattoos he had running along his back down to his hip. Isaac had perked up as well and they both looked at the door. There were some voices outside and the hurried tap of feet across the floor and a second later Derek practically burst in. He smelled a bit like smoke and the cuffs of his pants were wet. Stiles took a moment to give the man a once over- damn he looked good in a uniform,- and then focused on his face. His mouth was tight with worry and behind him Ethan’s body was tense, like he’d been expecting to walk into a fight.

“We got here as soon as we could,” Derek said, striding into the office and standing next to Stiles who had stood from his chair.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, stepping into the other mans arms where he allowed the wolf to burry his face in his neck.

Derek pulled back a bit and eyed Stiles though his arms didn’t loosen their hold around his waist. “You smell like smoke.”

“He tried to set Deaton on fire,” Isaac announced.

“Isaac,” Stiles warned and the Beta shut up. They’d given Derek the bare minimum details over the phone but the Alpha had heard the tension in his Mates voice and that set him on edge immediately. He knew things were tense between his ex-Emissary and his new one, but this was about his mom. That was ground one tread on very lightly.

“Sheriff?” Derek looked at the older man and John gave an amiable nod of his head, signaling that he was going to keep his reaction level subdued.

“It’s just a lot to take in,” he said, glancing at the picture on his desk. The one of the three of them a year before they'd found out.... “Every husband thinks their wife is one of a kind but I guess Claudia took it to a whole other level.”

Derek nodded solemnly. “Is this…” Derek started, looking back at Stiles who was tracing lazy circles with his thumb on his lower back just over where his service weapon was holstered. “Is everything okay?” He wasn’t sure what to ask. His family may have had a Druid as their Emissary for years but Deaton wasn’t the sharing type when it came to personal information. He actually knew very little about the Druidic Order or what this actually meant for Stiles. Peter was probably the one who knew the most.

Stiles was quiet for a moment and Derek felt a twinge of sadness radiate from him. His hand smoothed up the younger mans back trying to ease away the ache. The Sheriff wasn’t a Werewolf but he was still his son’s father and he knew the look on his boys face. John stood from his chair. “Son?” he asked gently.

Stiles gave a small start as though he’d forgotten where he was. “What? Oh, no it’s nothing. I just…well…you know," he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck nonchalantly. "This would have been cool to talk with her about, that’s all.” Putting aside the fact that his mom was even a Druid in the _first_ place, Stiles had no doubt that his mom had been a better one than Deaton and that wasn’t just his own bias talking. Even Deaton admitted that she’d been higher up in the Order than he'd been. Maybe she’d know that he was a Spark, that the Nemeton would flip their town upside down, that one day he’d have to deal with magic, that Werewolves were real. Maybe she would have told him; taught him. Warned him. Maybe he could have learned all of this from his mom instead of strangers. Instead of learning on his own.

Stiles blinked in surprise when he felt two strong arms wrap around his shoulders. There was a certain lack of rock solid muscle letting him know it wasn't Derek, but they were warm. “She _absolutely_ would have told you,” John said firmly, voice thick with emotion. “We all just ran out of time.” It may have been years since this whole thing started and the two of them might have a score of scars on their bodies for their troubles, might have done things that they never thought they’d have to, but they were still family and those things never changed.

Stiles felt his chest tightened a he returned his dads embrace just as strongly. In the corner Isaac bit back a whine and looked at Derek who seemed to be feeling their Emissaries hurt just as much, if not more. Ethan went over to stand by Isaac and the younger beta felt a little more at ease in the ex-alphas presence. Every person in that room could feel the ache of old and new loss so they perfectly understood what John and Stiles were going through. Derek’s family, Isaac with his brother and Ethan with his. It never really stopped hurting.

When the father and son parted Derek was at Stiles side again in an instant, keeping the contact constant for the younger man. “I’m going to drive him back to the house,” Derek said to the Sheriff.

John nodded, taking a breath. “Thanks. I’ll give Melissa and Chris a call, let them know. You boys drive safe.”

Stiles smile awkwardly at his dad. “See you later, pops.”

As they walked out the door they heard Ethan ask, “So are we all jumping on the ‘lets punch Deaton’ bandwagon now?”

 

\---

 

Melissa was actually the only one who walked right up to Deaton the next day and cold-clocked him. Isaac, who had been working at the time relayed the encounter later that evening with a giddy flush to his cheeks. “It was the greatest thing I've ever seen. Melissa was all _I don’t give a flying fig about your secret order. When you refused to train Stiles that was one thing, but you put all of us at risk by withholding this information from him, and I swear to god if one of the kids had gotten killed it wouldn’t be just me down here Deaton. I’d have Derek, Chris, John and even Peter at your door so fast your head would spin right off your shoulders!_ and Deatons nose was just _gushing_ blood everywhere!”

Scott was sitting on the couch next to Stiles, both of them practically glowing with pride. “Your mom is awesome,” Stiles said sagely to his best friend. Melissa and Claudia had practically been sisters and she was, by default, Stiles second mom anyway. She’d made it clear on multiple occasions that she didn’t like it when someone messed with her boys. She was even classy enough to offer Deaton a ride to the hospital to get his broken nose reset.

Derek pat the True Alpha on the head as he passed the couch, back straight and satisfaction showing through. Scott practically beamed at the older wolf. Derek felt that for all the stress Stiles accumulated over his confrontation with Deaton that the news was handled brilliantly by the Pack. Everyone was appropriately pissed off at the Druid but none of them argued when Stiles announced that he, Lydia, and Danny would still be going to him for magical instruction. It turned out that Peters information about Druids and their Order was less than he initially thought. They did manage to find out that asking Deaton would be useless because the Order was steeped in secrets and no Druid was allowed to disclose them so even Morill wouldn’t be of much.

Lydia and Danny managed to dig up a few useful bits of lore on Druids but the Order was only mentioned once, stating that they were a council of powerful Druids who oversaw the balance of magic in the world. The main thing everyone, mostly the Sheriff, wanted to know is why the hell Deaton had an issue with Stiles’s mom being a Druid in the first place and why that would matter when he was teaching him. Peter had tried explain types of magic users to them after Stiles left but Lydia was the only one who really got the concept so he let the Banshee and Stiles take over the questions that came

Druids harnessed the power of the elements, working with the balance of the world’s natural flow of magic and they shaped it. Their magic was granted to them by the earth and the amount of power that could flow through them was a direct result of how much power the earth herself deemed they could handle within its own balance. Witches relied on physical objects that were magical by nature or enchanted through spells. They stored their power in talismans like batteries, letting it loose when they saw fit. They were considered dangerous more than helpful because they took that magic from the earth through ritual instead of gradually, asking proper permission like Druids did.

John was surprised to learn that Sparks were the majority of magic users in the world. Every human and Fae, Werewolves included, had the ability to work magic or at least had some form of it in them. It was what allowed an Alpha to turn a human or take pain. With the proper application of will-power and belief humans that were not practiced Witches could participate in and complete spells. Most of the time Sparks became Witches if they knew how and had access to the proper tools as it was a more reliable way to harness magic, but many of them didn’t even know they had these powers and lived normal lives.

Stiles saw Scott scratching his head in puzzlement and he jumped in to save his friend a headache. “Okay, Scott, let's say that someone wants to summon lightning, right?” Scott nodded slowly. “A Druid will harness the power of a storm; something that occurs in nature all the time. They have to be careful though because there is always a backlash from nature if it's not done correctly. For instance, a Druid can summon lightning in a storm but they first have to summon up a storm strong enough to generate it and then they have to direct the lightning to where they want it to go. It's time consuming and dangerous and if a Druid can't handle the power, it could kill them. That’s why most Druids, like Deaton, stick to herbs, stones, and medicines. The magic is already in those things and they just guide it out to its full potential. Since they can harness directly from nature though, it makes them very powerful.” Stiles waited for Scott to nod that he understood before he continued and his father was looking at him with a line of concentration between his brows, like he wanted to be taking notes but forgot a pen and paper. “A Witch can summon lightning but they can't direct it straight from nature like a Druid would be able to. They would perform a spell, taking the magic and infusing it in an object-“

"Like a wand?”

“Yes Scotty, like a wand." Stiles pandered. "Their main thing though is that they can mix types of magic together to make something unique, like that green lightning that was mixed with a spell to deaden our healing abilities." Scott nodded a bit more surely this time, remembering that night with a frown. "The more intense the ritual is, the more magic they can attain. I’ve always liked to think that Witches take power from one place, cart it around for a while, and then release it whenever they want to. Once it is released, it goes right back to where it originally came from. Now, both these types of magic users use what is already available to them. Sparks however have the ability to create magic out of nothing. If I wanted to summon lightning, I would create it. I would _will_ it into being."

“So…the fact that you are a Druid _and_ a Spark means….?” Erica started, waiting for Stiles to fill in.

Lydia sighed like this conversation was taxing her mentally. “It means that Stiles can harness natural magic from the earth like a Druid which I assume is not an easy task, as well as create it on his own, ignoring natures laws of balance. He does not need to use spells to store magic and therefore is not limited by materials or time. He is limited simply by what he believes he can do.”

“It means,” Derek added, looking at his Emissary, hand still on the young mans knee as it had been for the past half hour, “That Stiles is a magic user that does not have to follow the general laws of magic.”

The Betas eyes widened. “So, you’re like a super Spark?” Scott asked, awe in his voice.

Stiles rubbed his forehead a bit. “In _theory_ , sort of. I really still prefer to follow the laws though. Marabeth warned me that if I overdo it there can be some serious repercussions. Just because I have this at my disposal doesn’t mean I should use it.” Derek understood that and he was happy for it. There were ways Stiles magic could help them that he’d already seen. He was quicker, stronger and smarter in his actions. The spells he wove into his gear and weapons were already more than any of them had ever hoped for. Clearly Deaton thought Stile would have wanted to become some cosmically powerful being hell bent on destroying the world but all he really wanted to do was learn what he could do if the worst case scenario arose.

Peter stayed strangely quiet throughout the whole explanation like he was filing away every detail of the conversation in the back of his mind. Scott and Erica of course asked for some more demonstrations and Stiles had responded by rolling up his sleeves, revealing an intricate map of pale brown tattoos that glowed when he cupped his hands together and rubbed them. A cheery orange glow came from his palms and when he opened them flames licked along the skin at his fingertips before disappearing. Lydia raised an eyebrow at that and Stiles instantly cut into her thoughts by saying, “Just because I can use elemental magic does not mean it isn’t stupidly hard. The tattoos help but It fights with me and it usually kicks my ass if it’s not a life or death situation where I need it to work.”

And with that Derek’s previous postulations were affirmed. 11 months of hard training taught Stiles not going to be reckless with this.

They filled Jackson in over the phone because he was already at the airport and he sounded down right pissed about it. For all his grump about not wanting to be bothered about pack things when he was busy, he was only human (kind of) and damnit he always seemed to miss out on the cool things. Stiles stuck to small feats for the rest of the night for them, Peter occasionally popping in with a question or two while Derek stuck close to his Emissaries side, hand always touching some part of him while Scott was practically glued to his other side, trying to swipe at a bubble of water Stiles was tossing from hand to hand that had once been in a glass. He eventually got it and it burst all over.

Erica, Peter, Isaac, Ethan, Lydia and Alison all decided to stay at the Pack house that night and they ordered pizza. The order was so big Derek tipped the delivery guy $40 and told him that he’d get an extra ten if he drove to the Sheriffs house and brought one of the pizzas there. John had been a champ about this whole thing making it ten times easier for Stiles and Derek wanted to show his appreciation. Stiles didn’t have to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOY!! 6000 hits!


	23. Stiles "gets" a job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (fast forward a bit from January to March)
> 
> “You can’t just spring this on me! I never agreed to it…. No, I don’t _care_ if it’s a hassle for you. It’s a hassle for _me!_ You 100% brought this on yourself and I’m not going to….no, I don’t have a job right now, not that it’s any of your business. I have plenty of money saved up from New York…no, I’m not _bored_ Carla, Jesus! Would you just…!” Stiles cut off abruptly and Derek guessed he was being talked over. When Stiles started tapping his foot on the ground Derek decide that it was time to get off the couch and do some damage control. He’d just gotten up and made his way over to the man when Stiles hung up the phone with a sigh and let his forehead rest –thunk- against the wall. “My life….why is this my life?” Derek heard him mutter as he came up behind him quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did _not_ write myself into a corner. Shut up, I didn't. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay. 3 jobs = death. Hope you enjoy the dribble. As always, comments are appreciated. Lets me know people aren't bored. ^^
> 
> ps, its super late, Im extra tired and i did not get a chance to read for typos. I will go back and edit this a bit. forgive meeeeeee

After his long overdue confrontation with Deaton who wisely kept a distance from Stiles surrogate mom (a.k.a one Melissa McCall), the Pack settled into a familiar pattern. Work, patrol, hang out, train, eat junk food, pack cuddle (yes the term stuck, thanks so much Stiles), and deal with matters as they came up. As the month passed and the Druid slowly got his way back into the Packs good graces via being extra helpful for once, Stiles was thrilled to realize that the supernatural quandaries in Beacon Hills were nothing short of vanilla compared to the cosmic black-hole of a city he’d trained in. New York wasn't the worst place, but dealing with Goblins and muggers was just one woe too many. 

With the Pack looking after the town officially and most of the citizens in the know about their wolfy defenders, trouble seemed rather subdued but steady. Fae tolerated each other. They were happy here in a place where they didn't have to hide. Even the few remaining humans were satisfied with their less than normal neighbors. Outside threats were still a problem as they would always be due to the sheer multitude of Supernatural residents and the Nemeton combined, but they were taken care of quickly and effectively. 

Stiles stayed mostly at the Pack house during down time reading or touching up wards but he would pop over to check on his dad every once and a while, mostly because he hadn’t been able to for so long and he didn’t want his dad to think he was being neglected. He quickly made friends with the new deputies at the station who were consistently amused by the way the young man not only hounded the Sheriff when it came to food, but Derek and Ethan as well. Stiles insisted that because the wolves already had fairly healthy eating habits they had a civic obligation to keep an eye on their Sheriff. Fast food wasn't evil, but fast food every day was not something the youngest Stilinski tolerated. 

Derek’s official shifts at the station (lets face it, he was always on duty,) were pretty regular so he was usually home by 5pm. That suited Stiles just fine because he went completely domestic with the whole stay-at-home boyfriend/Mate/Lupa/Emissary thing. He enjoyed it; taking care of his Pack like this and he’d sorely missed it while he’d been away. Whoever happened to be in the house with him helped with dinner (not Scott though because he was not allowed near a hot stove) and they had loud, large, obnoxious, ridiculously comfortable meals as often as they could. Even Peter’s occasional resurfacing creep vibe didn’t ruin the mood. 

Things went, for lack of a better word, swimmingly in the days to come and those days turned to weeks, and weeks led them to the start of March when the weather was just starting to get warmer. There were movie nights, cuddle fests, target practice, magic training with Deaton, skirmishes with pissed off Fae worked up about territory rights or just looking to cause trouble, and everything fell into place. Stiles was home. The wolves had their Emissary and friend, the Alpha had his Lupa, Lydia and Danny had their pseudo magic guru and research compatriot, the Sheriff had his son, Melissa had her boys, and Peter….well…Peter had a creepy smile on his face when Stiles was around sometimes but someone always put the kibosh on that by reminding him even though he’d heal, getting shot still hurt. 

When he wasn’t with Deaton or at the station pestering his boyfriend and his father the Pack made sure Stiles spent time re-familiarizing himself with the rest of the town. He’d managed to keep a low profile for the most part which was a little surprising to the rest of the Pack. Not a year ago Stiles had been their uncontrollable ball of energy who talked a mile a minuet and wriggled his way into everything. He still was in some respects but the composed watchful disposition that he’d gained in New York endured here as well. He didn’t have to wriggle any more. He just…got in. He stood out but he wasn’t conspicuous. He’d go out with the Pack, be seen by people in town, but no one asked questions and he offered no answers. No one really took a good hard look at the man. 

In all, Stiles fit back into life in Beacon Hills so seamlessly that when the phone rang at the Pack house one warm Friday night while he and Derek were curled on the couch watching a movie, the Alpha hardly registered when his Emissary answered it by saying; “Hale house. If it’s a dead body we have a Sheriffs department for that.” Normally lines like that were reserved for Stile’s phone exclusively but well…it was a valid point. Dereks focus on the movie was split between the screen and the person on the phone to see how they’d react.

_“Sparky! How you been? Settled back home all nice and cozy with your hunk of man wolf?”_

That had Derek looking down at his Mate, wolfs ears perking up. Who exactly knew that they were dating? 

Stiles however shut his eyes for a moment and sat up from his position sprawled between Derek’s legs. “Haven’t heard from you in a while,” he said. “How did you get this number?” he didn’t sound suspicious but tired instead, like he was used to dealing with this woman on the other end of the line. 

_“Come on now, all the awesome Fae in BH have Alpha Hales number in case of emergencies. I’ve seen you out and about town and I figured that’s where you’d be.”_

Derek heard Stiles heart beat hitch. “….You’re kidding right?” Derek shifted on the couch so he could sit straighter and he placed a quieting hand on Stiles shoulder. His back was to him so he couldn’t see the expression in the young mans face but he sounded a little shocked. He didn’t recognize the voice over the phone but Derek guessed that this woman hadn’t told Stiles she was in town. 

Stiles took a small breath and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders at the other mans touch. He turned a bit, looking over his shoulder at Derek. “Personal call,” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. “Can I…..?” He made a motion with his hand. It was a thing Stiles had been practicing: silencing wards. The house was full of them and could be activated with a mere flick of the Sparks finger. Once Derek nodded one of the small tattoos on Stiles pinky pulsed out a steady glow and he swung his legs off the couch, standing up. “Okay, talk,” he demanded. “When did you get here and why have I not seen your sneaky ass around?”

Derek watched curiously as Stiles made his way to the hallway for a little bit of privacy, only able to hear his side of the conversation now. Nope, the woman definitely hadn’t mentioned she’d be in town from the way Stiles was grouching at her. 

Danny passed Stiles in the hallway, carrying his laptop and he shot a questioning look at Derek once he got to the living room, motioning with his thumb at Stiles. 

“Old friend?” Derek ventured in answer, shrugging. Stiles had gotten a new phone a while back and he’d often be on call with random people talking about inappropriately dangerous things that most people would have cringed at if they overheard it in passing. Stiles called them his ‘work friends’. Derek had learned not to ask too much about them because his Mate would always smell of remorse and sadness when he did. Stiles had grown a bit attached to his friends back in the city and he worried about them. Understandable considering the stories Stiles had told them about the monsters over there. 

Danny shrugged as well and made his way to the kitchen for a snack. He, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison had a Humans Only a date planned for tonight and he’d had nothing better to do today than chill out at the Pack house and take advantage of the amazing hot spot he’d help set up. 

Derek suddenly felt a spike of irritation from the hallway and he craned his neck, trying to get a peak of Stiles without leaving the couch. He could hear the mans heated words. “You can’t just spring this on me! I never agreed to it…. No, I don’t _care_ if it’s a hassle for you. It’s a hassle for _me!_ You 100% brought this on yourself and I’m not going to….no, I don’t have a job right now, not that it’s any of your business. I have plenty of money saved up from New York…no, I’m not _bored_ Carla, Jesus! Would you just…!” Stiles cut off abruptly and Derek guessed he was being talked over. When Stiles started tapping his foot on the ground Derek decide that it was time to get off the couch and do some damage control. He’d just gotten up and made his way over to the man when Stiles hung up the phone with a sigh and let his forehead rest –thunk- against the wall. “My life….why is this my life?” Derek heard him mutter as he came up behind him quietly.

“Reasons?” Derek guessed with a sympathetic smile, bringing one hand up to rub at the back of the others neck. “Who was that?”

Stiles pushed off the wall using mostly his forehead and looked at Derek with tired eyes. “I think I made Beacon Hills sound way too good. Apparently everyone I worked with in the city wants to move here. And they all want to work in the service industry.”

The surprise was clear on Derek's face. “Who else?” More Vampires like Charlotte and her Nest? God, they really didn’t need more Vampires, good _or_ bad.

Stiles rubbed his eyes and sighed as he walked back over to the couch and flopped down on it. Derek followed and sat on the end and Stiles shifted till he had his feet on the other mans lap, sulking the whole way even when Derek started to rub his ankles. “Her name is Carla. She’s a Sylph. Also, ironically, the hot bartender that our two horny Centaurs were fighting over. Should have paid more attention to their story,” he muttered. 

Derek’s surprise doubled and his hands stilled their slow ministrations. “The Sylph who runs the Onyx? _That_ Carla?” The Onyx had opened up about a month and a half before Stiles returned and it had amassed its reputation nearly overnight. The Pack certainly knew it well. Fully refinished from an old, small brewery with wooden countertops and dark rich colors it gave off a homey but lonesome feeling. During the day hours it was a cheery enough place but at night it catered to some of the more serious drinkers in town and those who were just passing through. Serious Supernatural drinkers. And they didn’t all stick to what was on the menu either. He, Ethan, and John had been called there a few times to settle disputes and Carla even had a few assault charges threatened against her. They’d been written off as self-defense because Carla was not a lady you wanted to piss off, but if you did, she had a damn good reason to assault you. 

Derek was still surprised that it had been her on the line with Stiles because in all the times they’d encountered each other over the past few months, “She never mentioned knowing you,” Derek said finally, letting his hand continue their massage of Stiles feet and calves to keep him occupied. And she certainly didn’t mention anything about the Centaurs. 

“She wouldn’t have,” Stiles sighed doggedly. “She’s like, 300 years old and thinks she’s like my older sister sometimes but she’s a brat. She knew you’d tell me she was here and she’d knew I’d be pissed off.”

“Why would you be pissed? Derek wondered. He could smell a biter sort of humor coming off the younger man and he seriously, for the sake of his and Carla’s tentative friendship, hoped that the Sylph had not done anything to make his Mate angry. They all saw how well that went with Deaton. 

Stiles let out a small laugh and covered his face in his hands as Danny walked back into the living room, laptop open in one hand, bag of chips in the other. “Derek, she told me that I own half of the Onyx and that I’m working a shift tomorrow evening.”

Derek visibly tensed and Danny almost had to buy a new laptop. “What?!” the question was slightly high pitched which was unusual for down to earth Danny. 

Stiles looked through a crack in his fingers at the other human even though the fact that Derek had tensed up sent a jolt of concern through him. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Danny set his laptop and food down on the coffee table. He switched off the long forgotten TV with the remote and put his hands on his hips before looking down at the two of them.“Okay, apart from the fact that you apparently _own_ a bar, I mean where the hell did _that_ come from; did I hear you say you were working a night shift at the _Onyx_?” Danny repeated. Stiles nodded. “Stiles, do you even know what kind of bar that _is_ at night?” Danny pressed. 

Stiles looked wary all of a sudden. No. No he did not. He’d been too busy trying to reject Carla to ask. “…Something tells me it’s not a strip club.”

“Stiles,” Derek said in a voice low with unease. “It’s a Night Walker hangout.”

Stiles was silent for a beat, staring at the Alpha, and then he let out a pathetic groan and covered his face with his arms. 

 

Human date night turned out to be more of a late night drink meeting at the Onyx. After Danny filled Lydia and Allison in on Stiles new place of employment the girls left them no choice but to go and hash it out with Carla directly. Derek was completely against them going there at night at all, insisting that he go with and Stiles was inclined to agree. Just because they ran the town did not mean that there weren’t straggling black zones like the Onyx still out there: hangouts for a crowd that could seriously cause trouble for them if they wanted. 

Lydia however had flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked Derek square in the eye, stating, “If someone bothers us we have an Argent who is always armed, a Banshee with a butterfly knife in her purse and stiletto shoes, a human with 5 years of mixed martial arts under his belt, and an Emissary who can talk his way out of any situation or leave a mess of unconscious bodies if negotiations go south.”

“We’ll be fine,” Allison said, dimples showing. Derek, with extreme –extreme- reluctance, agreed, and, as usual, told them to call him if anything happened. 

So there they were at 10pm on a Friday night. Stiles took a long drink from his recently refilled glass of whisky and winced as it burned down his throat. He looked tired and irritated. “Okay, explain to me again how this happened,” said Danny who was sitting next to him, scratching his head like the conversation was physically paining him. “I mean, the legality of writing someone’s name on a lease without their knowledge aside. Why?” Stiles had come back smoking hot from the city in Danny’s eyes but Stiles equals Bar Ownership just didn’t compute. He’d only just gotten used to seeing Stiles equal weapon wielding Spark and Jungle Club Candy and his heart could only take so much. 

They were all sitting in a neat row at the counter of Onyx, glasses on the polished wood bar top in front of them (minus the one Stiles had been holding nearly the entire time. His coaster wasn’t even wet.) The woman behind the bar was nearly 6 feet tall, had a lean athletic frame, aqua green hair and skin even paler than Stiles. She cleaned glasses as she rolled her pale gray eyes with a small smile, the multitude of rings on her fingers catching the dim warm light as she moved them. She looked no older than 28 years old but only when she was smiling as she was at that moment. “It’s really not that complicated Danny,” she said. “We were holed up in a safe house for two days and we decided to play poker to pass the time. Now, this was while Stiles was just starting to learn to mask his heartbeats and lie enough to fool someone who could hear them so as a result he ever so kindly emptied his pockets for me. I needed a job once I got here so I used all the money I won and some of my own to buy the lease on this building. I figure since I practically stole the money from the Stiles in the first place; Im sorry hon, but your poker face sucked back then," she said sympathetically to the young man. "it was still _technically_ his so in my mind he paid for half of this place and fixed it up.”

Allison was looking at Stile incredulously. “Jesus Stiles, just how much money did you lose?”

Stiles hadn’t removed his face from the palm of his hand, glass pressed to his forehead. “Carla…” he started, words slightly muffled by his palm. He finally looked up, hair tufted from where his fingers had worried at it. “For the love of god, why Beacon Hills? You loved New York.”

“Are you kidding?” the Sylph asked, looking at the young man liked he’d been drinking a glass of stupid instead of whisky. “What Fae in their right mind would pass up a chance to live in a Haven founded by the Hale’s with a World Tree in it? I felt 20 years younger the moment I drove over the county line!” She motioned around to some of the patrons, one of which had glamored down and sported a small horn in the center of their forehead. “And where else can the Supes walk around with horns on their face like that?”

“In _New York!_ ” Stiles insisted through gritted teeth.

Carla snorted as she set aside a clean glass and moved to another. “Yeah, and have it be mistaken for some crap body mod that angsty teens get when they want to rebel against their parents and inadvertently piss off someone with _real_ horns?” she snapped. “And I’ve a right to come here just like every other Fae in this town. I got your Alpha’s approval to live and work here and that’s that.” She stuck out her tongue at the young man for good measure and Stiles threw a napkin right in her face. 

Lydia tapped her nails against her glass, face a mask of calm and serenity. “Carla, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you want Stiles to work here at this bar with you?

The woman shrugged a little. “Well, it’s boring to run a bar by myself,” was her excuse. She grinned at Stiles, teeth flashing. “And Sparky is entertaining.”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Did you ask his opinion on the matter before you decided his career path?”

The Sylph stopped cleaning her glass and fixed the Banshee with a solid gaze, her eyes loosing their glamor for an instant and shimmering blue. “You have something you want to get off your chest, Banshee?” she asked in a deceptively light tone.

Lydia's back straightened and she held her head high despite Allison clearing her throat to get her to calm down. “Only that Stiles might not be comfortable with the sort of clientele that frequent this establishment. If you were his friend in New York you should know all about the Vampires.”

“I was his friend in New York and _still am_ here,” Carla retorted, an edge to her voice. “And maybe _you_ need to stop understating the guy, hmm?”

Lydia visibly bristled and sucked in a breath. “Maybe you should get your head out of your ass and learn to ask before you go making decisions for other people.” 

Carla huffed and rolled her eyes at the other woman. “Stiles, would you inform your Banshee friend that I wouldn’t ask you to work with me if I didn’t think you’d be okay with the clients?”

“You _didn’t_ ask me Carla!” Stiles said, frustration showing through.

Carla set down her glass loudly on the counter with a huff. “Oh, come on! This is a golden opportunity I’m throwing at you. You’re father and boyfriend are men in law enforcement, you’ve got eyes and hands in the hospitals, two Argents keeping an ear open to the Hunter networks, a Packmate who works with a well known Druid,” she motioned to Danny and Lydia, “and your coven buddies have so many social connections in this town it borders on organized crime. Are you telling me that you, Stiles Stilinski, who likes to know everything before it happens, who it happens to and why, do not want to work at the only bar in town that actually caters to the bad things that go bump in the night?” 

Lydia and Danny were staring at Stiles now, quiet, the irritation at Carla gone from Lydia’s expression and replaced by what might be described as astonishment. “…Coven buddies?” Danny asked. 

“Holy shit,” Carla blurted out, throwing her hands up in a Stiles-like fashion. “Yes, Coven buddies. A Trust, a Gathering, a Circle, a Sparkly club, whatever you want to call it. Stiles told me you guys are the other magic users in the pack, right? Three makes a coven.” 

Danny raised an eyebrow at the animated woman. “Yeah…but we’ve just done simple spells with Stiles.” He looked at the Emissary, a little confused. “Wait, does this make us Witches?"

“I don’t remember signing up to be in a Coven Stiles,” Lydia said though she didn’t look angry at all, simply a bit disbelieving. 

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, thankful to have his attention somewhere other than Carla who he _really_ wanted to hit with something other than a napkin. “It’s not a club, Lydia. I’ve been studying magic with you guys for years now and it just…works with you, you know? I worked some spells with other magic users but it was different. The trust wasn’t there at it felt forced. It’s like the bond Derek has with his Betas. I feel that with you guys. Magically.” He honestly expected them to laugh; to point out that there was no way that he had magically bonded with the two of them over foreign incantations, spell books and herbs. 

Danny looked ecstatic. “Awesome! I was wondering when my supernatural quirk would come into play.” Stiles had to admit Danny made a fair point. Yes, he was freaky smart and he’d dated a werewolf on and off, but next to his dad and Melissa he was the most normal human out of the entire pack. 

Allison was smiling at Danny’s reaction and she then looked at Lydia expectantly. The redhead caught her eye, frowned, and then looked at Stiles before sighing. “As long as you don’t start acting like Deaton I’m okay with you being a magical mentor,” Lydia shrugged, trying not to look too pleased now that she was saying it out loud. “It wasn’t like you weren’t before." Carla almost physically jumped in between them, waving a dish rag in Stiles face. “Yes, and it's all magical and wonderful that you have each other. So are you going to work here and take responsibility for your half of the bar?” Carla pulled him back into the main topic. 

Allison stirred her drink a bit, looking around. “It really wouldn’t hurt to have you here Stiles, from a strategic standpoint. The rest of the Pack is a little too well known in this town to be able to listen in on any juicy conversations.” 

Danny nodded silently as well and took another sip of his drink. Stiles shot both of them a stubborn frown. Traitors. He then turned to Lydia, counting on her vehement protection of his rights. 

She was just sipping at her drink as well like she was considering the options as though it was her move in a chess game. 

Stiles gaped. “I cannot believe you support this now,” he said to the Banshee. “Where’s the Lydia who was defending my right to choose my own career path just a few seconds ago?” 

A patron at the end of the bar called for a rum and coke and Carla nodded at him, looking too smug for Stiles liking. “Oh, buck up Stiles,” The woman chided as she reached for the rum and fountainhead. “When I _met_ you, you were bar-tending for Christ sake! It's not like you don’t know how to do the damn job.”

Stiles hissed at her. “Well dismembering Trolls in my spare time didn’t exactly pay the bills now did it?” He watched as Carla started to fill the glass with alcohol with no sign of stopping and suddenly snatched the bottle right from her fingers. “Oh, damnit Carla you’re going to burn it.”

Carla waggled an eyebrow. “See~? You _have_ to work here or I’ll continue to make drinks wrong. That makes for unhappy Fae who make for vandals who make Derek and your daddy work late. “

Stiles frowned as he mixed the drink correctly and Danny took pity on his friend, not wanting to cave fully for his sake. “Okay, strategic as it is, what about the meaner customers you get in here Carla,” he pointed out. “Stiles said he wanted to keep a low profile and I doubt lighting up like a glow stick as he's now bound to do to break up a fight will help with that.”

“Stiles can be subtle,” Carla insisted knowingly. Her voice dropped a bit lower as she glanced around at the patrons, checking to see if they had any eavesdroppers. “And it's not like I’d advertise that I’ve got Hale’s Emissary working here. Bad for business.”

“Only for _this_ business,” Lydia muttered. She turned to look at Stiles, red lips set in a stubborn, slightly contemplative frown. Stiles didn’t avoid challenges much any more and they’d all come to accept that while he still charged in headfirst he didn’t expect recognition or appreciation from it. The town didn’t know he helped and his friends didn’t talk about him to others. He was their hidden ace. She could see the benefit of working here as Alison and Carla pointed out but it was sure to gain him some notoriety which is exactly what Lydia thought the man didn’t want. Still, this was completely up to him.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Carla in stalwart challenge as he finished off the drink and wrapped his knuckles on the wood before sliding the glass down the counter to the Satyr who caught it with a smile. 

"Derek is going to murder you," Stiles growled at Carla. And that was how Stiles accepted a position at the Onyx.


	24. One does not "let" Stiles do anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek had accommodated the humans in his Pack after their date nights before so he was no stranger to them stumbling in missing shoes, wallets, underwear that one time (Danny was never allowed to have tequila again), but this time they were missing something that could not be found at a lost and found the next day. They were missing Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because I haven't updated in a while. TT sorry. I will try to be better. This was one of the points where I had a major time skip in my pre-written story and I had to just throw all the filler at it. 
> 
> I have also now officially made this into Part One of the _Anything for the Pack_ series. Im thinking three parts total. Number of chapters will vary per part. Part one is long.

Murder was definitely on the table. Derek was fuming as he paced the floor, covering the entirety of the living room in a few long strides while his mouth turned down in a frown. 

Lydia, Danny, and Allison had come back to the house around midnight and spectacularly tripped over the threshold and into the living room where the Alpha had been trying desperately to make himself relax. They came in smelling of mahogany, magic, and martinis with little smiles on their faces and smothered giggles between them. 

Derek had accommodated the humans in his Pack after their date nights before so he was no stranger to them stumbling in missing shoes, wallets, underwear that one time (Danny was never allowed to have tequila again), but this time they were missing something that could not be found at a lost and found the next day. They were missing Stiles. 

First and foremost, Derek had panicked, but that only lasted for about a second as he quickly gave the humans credit for saying they wouldn’t let anything happen to his mate and their Emissary. He also reassured himself with the knowledge that they also would never have left Stiles on his own if he was as drunk as they were. Unless Stiles had told them to, in which case they would have felt inclined to listen to because one; Stiles was their Alpha’s Lupa, two; he was their Emissary, three; he held higher rank in the Pack than any of them via sheer stubborn will power, and four…it just didn’t pay off to argue with Stiles on the little things. It was exhausting and half the time he talked in such a circle that you forgot what your stance was in the first place. So that only left Derek to conclude that the little brat had actually had the gall to stay at the Onyx alone, knowing how Derek felt about _any_ of them going there at _all_. That wasn’t even the worst part. Derek could handle the drunken nothings they giggled about and the fact that Allison may or may not have slightly side swiped a guard rail on the way home with a jeep that Derek, Chris, and Ethan had spent five hours outfitting to make it safe for ‘Pack use’. That could be dealt with later and Chris would certainly ground his adult daughter for driving while intoxicated on top of what the Sheriff would throw at her. That was child’s play and could be overlooked. 

However, when Derek asked how late Stiles was going to be at the bar it was Lydia’s nonchalant announcement that Stiles was _technically_ his own boss now since it was a ‘joint ownership’ so he’d probably get to set his own schedule, that had Derek really heating up. Stiles was there alone. In the middle of the night. Unsupervised. Derek felt anxiousness claw at his stomach. This had not turned out well for them last time! 

Derek just couldn’t believe it, even when he had Lydia repeat herself and then looked at Danny (the least visably drunk of the three of them) for confirmation. Danny nodded, albeit sympathetically, and Derek felt his fingers ache as his claws threatened to come out. Not only had Stiles taken a job that he didn’t really want but he’d started already! Tonight. This very night when Derek had been sure that Stiles and the others had gone down to the bar to firmly refuse Carla’s insane offer because thats exactly what it was: _insane!_

The older man ran his fingers through his dark hair harshly and continued his pacing, muttering to himself. Carla had to be threatening him. That was the only plausible reason Derek could think of for Stiles to even consider doing this kind of job. It wasn’t safe, Vampires were not Stiles’ favorite supernatural creature, and since _when_ did he even know how to make drinks? So, Derek settled, now all that was left to do was to find out what Carla was using against his Mate and politely ask the manipulative, conniving sylph to get her devious little talons out of his-!

“Derek, you’re stalking a path on the hardwood like a crazy person,” came Lydia’s tired drawl, interrupting his methodic pacing across the floor. The alpha turned to the woman, hazel green eyes flashing in irritation and the redhead just rolled her own eyes in exasperation. “Sit down. We can talk about it like civilized people.” She made a motion to one of the lounge chairs, eyes drooping a bit as she willed them to focus on just one of the Derek’s in front of her. The three of them had all taken a seat on the couch, half leaning on one another but staying awake enough so that they could give Derek what had to be their best attempt at full attention. 

Derek didn’t move to take a seat, like his anger made it impossible for his knees to bend or even contemplate sitting. “How could you let him accept a job there?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice even and failing miserably to contain the growl.

Lydia blinked a set of un-amused green eyes at him. “Excuse me? Let him?” Hostility never really worked on Lydia Martin, drunk or not. 

Derek’s glare narrowed, looking down at them. “Yes Lydia. Stiles went there to refuse. He didn’t _want_ to work there. Hell, _I_ don’t want him to work there. You all know damn well what kind of people go to Carla’s bar.” 

“For the most part,” Lydia with a matter of fact pointed finger, “he made up his own mind.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “For the _most part_?” God, it was blackmail. He was going to kill Carla. 

But Lydia was holding up her whole hand now in a placating manner. “Calm down, Mr. Alpha,” She hiccuped demurely. “ _You’ve_ got a job dealing directly with the supernatural and Stiles might actually be really good at this. He’s dealt with his fair share of badness and he did it without all of us watching his back. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Derek just barely stopped himself from stating the obvious jinx that _‘he could DIE’_. They’d gotten over that bump in the road. It was Beacon Hills after all. Population 10,561 and dropping. Risk of death was just a part of life. Lydia seemed to notice his restraint and the words he held back so she smiled at him. Derek pinched the bridge of his nose with a severed frown. “So it’s a _bad_ thing to want to keep him away from psychotic Vampires now?"

“He is a grown man, Derek,” Danny said, almost managing to keep the slur from his words. “And Carla’s got his back in there.”

Derek was just about to snap about how Danny had been all for the lets-keep-Stiles-out-of-the-Onyx mantra when he’d found out, but Allison jumped in. She either held her alcohol very well or she was an eloquent drunk. “Derek," the brunette said. "She really did make good points. We know what kind of people go to that bar. They _don’t_ know Stiles. He can get information that could help keep people safe. You know that’s all he ever wanted to do.” The older man practically flinched at that well calculated hit. He almost resented the Huntress for being the voice of reason because he just couldn’t force himself to argue with her.

Lydia used Danny’s shoulder as a brace to help herself stand. She was –almost- eye to eye with Derek once she straightened up. “I see that face, Derek Hale,” she stated, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you start worrying about anything before it happens. This is going to be a good thing. Besides, you know Stiles was going to want to find a job eventually anyway.”

Derek put his hands on his hips and a reluctant sigh passed his lips. He knew it. They'd maybe had a week or two left of Stiles being content being a stay at home Pack mom before he wanted to get out and do something productive. “But why _there?_ Of all places he just had to get roped into one of the most unsupervised, dangerous places in town.” 

They all blinked in surprise when Lydia snorted. "I would love to see Stiles face when you tell him you think he has to be supervised."

Derek conceded on that. Point Lydia.

“Don’t worry Derek, Carla’s no pushover,” Allison pointed out with a small betraying hiccup. “She’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Stiles is no pushover either,” Danny added confidently with a raised eyebrow. “And they worked together in New York so its not like he’s with a stranger.” 

Lydia smoothed out her dress a bit and held her head high. “So it's settled then. Stiles is working at the Onyx as the Pack informant. I’m going to make some coffee,” she announced, crooking a becoming finger at Danny. “Coven buddy; come.”

Danny dragged himself off the couch and Derek glanced at Allison after he’d watched them retreat into the kitchen. He just felt tired all of a sudden and he really wanted Stiles to be home, away from things with fangs, in their room, in their bed, in his arms. “Coven buddy?” he asked wearily, rubbing his temple with his index finger. 

Allison let out a little chuckle and waved her hand at the older man as she curled into a pillow. “Oh, they all bonded at the bar. Stiles is apparently their Yoda.”

Derek was quit for a moment and then opened his mouth as he shook his head and finally made his way over to the lounge chair. “I have no idea how to respond to that.”


	25. Stiles learns something on his first day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek didn’t have important discussion via text. It couldn’t express the full range of his tone and by god there was going to be some tone when Stiles got home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta, though I know my room mate judges me hard for this fic and threatens to hit me with something.
> 
> Here is some info ovoriel asked me for recently regarding the fic. It will clear up the difference between Mate and Lupa as I use it in this story:
> 
> A Mate would be for the purpose of an emotional lifelong commitment to each other (someone to have children with or raise a family with). A love relationship if you will. A Lupa in my mind is very similar to a Second in command. This would be who the Alpha trusts to lead, protect, and guide the pack in the event that they are unable to. It's an entirely trust based relationship and does not have to be intimate at all. To the pack members the Lupa holds a position pretty much equal to an Alpha, but they might have a more protective instinct towards them because they are the person that their Alpha chose to look after them. A Mate of an Alpha can hold a Lupa position if the Alpha thinks their Mate is capable of it. Any Werewolf can have a Mate, only the Alpha can have a Lupa, and only a Lupa has the entire packs blessing to lead them should the Alpha become unable to. They are like the Second Alpha. Or something.

Derek had made the humans stay put, practically tossing them each in their rooms and saying that if any of them even considered driving or wandering about he was going to evoke his deputy powers and arrest them. Which he sort of wanted to do any way. On account of being idiots who couldn’t keep Stiles from being an idiot. 

He sent a text to Chris to let him know Allison hadn’t damaged the jeep too badly; nothing a little buffing wouldn’t cure, and then toyed with the idea of calling the Sheriff. John had a particular distaste for the Onyx as the first day its opening night landed paperwork on his desk for three assault charges and two counts of indecent exposure. That was before Carla had even opened the doors. 

But Derek knew Stiles would give him the third degree if he did that so Derek instead decided to call Erica and ask her if she’d swing by after her shift ended. She worked at an overnight day care for some unknown reason (so she never made the mistake of having kids of her own, or so she claimed) and her response was quick. 

_March 4th 4:00 AM. From: Erica  
R u seriously asking me 2 go from 1 babysitting job to another? Really Derek? Really?_

_March 4th 4:00 AM. To: Erica  
Yes. It will take you 10 minuets tops. And I’m betting you’ll get a free drink out of it. _

_March 4th 4:02 AM. From: Erica  
Bribing your Betas with alcohol. Shame on u. But I’m seriously beat. Can’t anyone else do it? Danny likes that bar. _

_March 4th 4:02 AM. To: Erica  
He’s been passed out upstairs for the past two hours. He, Allison, and Lydia have failed as Stiles shoulder angels. _

_March 4th 4:03 AM. From: Erica  
Fine, I’ll do it. If only because I hve to tell him u made a shoulder angel joke. _

_March 4th 4:03 AM. To: Erica  
Good Beta._

_March 4th 4:03 AM. From: Erica  
Bite me Alpha. _

_March 4th 4:04 AM. To: Erica  
Been there, done that. _

Derek was smiling as he put away his phone. He'd never get over the fact that he's successfully gotten to a point where he could joke with his Betas about, well, pretty much anything. Stiles had been 100% correct when he said Erica had just needed to find her independence and place in the pack to bring out her true and snarky personality of awesome. She still had a temper a mile wide and ten miles deep but she’d become quite a spectacular wolf with a nose even better than Derek’s.

About an hour later his phone rang again and he looked at the text. 

_March 4th 5:10 AM. From Erica  
Derek, what the hell? You said check up on Stiles. When the hell did he get a job here!?_

_March 4th 5:10 AM. To: Erica  
Last night apparently. Everything okay?_

Derek started to get antsy when three minutes rolled around and there was no response. A second later his phone beeped again. 

_March 4th 5:13 AM. From: Stiles  
You sent Erica to check on me? Are you for real right now?_

Derek let out a deep sigh. Erica wasn't sassy and awesome. She was a nark. 

_March 4th 5:14 AM. To: Stiles  
You do realize that you didn’t want to work there right? If anyone has the right to be angry it's me. _

_March 4th 5:15 AM. From: Stiles  
There were reasons. Good, legitimate reasons that Lydia and Allison and Carla all came up with and have you ever tried to argue with those three? Good god, there is no wining. Carla was going to crack me over the head with a bottle of Jack and make me live behind the bar. Lydia’s already planning her 22nd birthday party here so there was no way I was getting out of this. They told you all this right? They said they were going back to the house...._

Derek didn’t have important discussion via text. It couldn’t express the full range of his tone and by god there was going to be some tone when Stiles got home. 

_March 4th 5:16 AM. To: Stiles  
When are you coming home? _

_March 4th 5:16 AM. From: Stiles  
Depends. Am I in trouble?_

_March 4th 5:16 AM. To: Stiles  
STILES!_

Capitalization could totally be tone. 

_March 4th 5:17 AM. From: Stiles  
Erica and I are leaving now. Think soothing thoughts. _

Soothing thoughts. Soothing thoughts my ass, Derek thought to himself. The only thought that soothed him now was the fact that his wolf hadn’t burst out of him and tracked Stiles down at the bar himself. 

Erica dropped Stiles off at the house not 10 minutes later and Derek was waiting for him in the dark living room like the godfather. Stiles shut the front door and flicked on the lights only to let out a truly manly yelp and jumped, pressing his back against the door. His words tumbled out in a panic. “Holy- _Derekwhatthehell’sthematterwi’chu!?”_

Seating in one of the lounge chairs the Alphas hands were folded evenly in front of him, one leg crossed over the other and looking for all the world like he was one second away from hunting down a horse, tearing its head off and putting it in someone’s (Carlas) bed as a warning. He heard Stiles heart thump like a rabbits as Erica peeled out of the driveway and down the dirt path. The man smelled faintly of those herbal cigarettes and Derek knew he’d had one on the ride over. 

“You didn’t think you should talk this over with me first?” Derek said, voice low and deceptively calm. 

Stiles took a steadying breath and his pulse slowed as he composed himself. “If I had you would have said no. Though, in my defense it happened really fast and I think I’m allowed to cave to peer pressure a few times in my life.” He locked the door behind him and kicked off his shoes, nudging them at the wall by the door as he pulled off his thin coat. 

“Of course I would have said no,” Derek agreed. “But we could have talked about it and I might have changed it to a maybe.” Talking about it was something Derek had been trying out more and more these past few years. Talking is good, the Sheriff had told him once. Because not everybody can read eyebrows like my son or smell emotions like your Betas. Stiles hung up his jacket on a hook and shifted on his feet by the door like he was contemplating whether or not to be more than a few steps from it. 

“I’m going to state the obvious here because I know you’re going to deflect the first chance you get,” Derek continued candidly. “The Onyx is shady as hell. Carla has somehow managed to create a halfway house for every supernatural creature, Hunter, and mercenary that passes through town. I don’t doubt you can handle yourself but there are other ways to get information that don’t involve you putting yourself directly in harms way.”

Stiles had been shifting more and more while Derek spoke, rubbing a hand over his forearm where the old bite mark resided and finally he blurted out like he couldn’t contain it anymore, “Vampires from San Francisco are coming here.” 

Even Stiles looked surprised with himself and Derek sat up straight in his chair. Stile had been nervous, subconsciously touching at the scar that related to his news. “Oh…kay,” Derek said slowly, regarding his Lupa with a critical eye. “And how do you know that?” Seriously, he'd been there all of 4 hours?

He heard Stiles swallow and listened for any signs of apprehensiveness in his tone. “Huldra are apparently super gossip mongers.” 

The abrupt change of topic had Derek going quiet for a moment, still as a statue. He felt his wolf pace back and forth, conflicted. His Mate might be in danger but on the flip side his Lupa possibly had some good information. "I'm listening." His human side wanted to kick his wolf in its furry rear end. What else was he supposed to say to that? The Pack had been dealing with threats as they came into town and this was one of the first times they might get forewarning and have time to come up with an actual plan. In Derek's more primal mind, dealing with a danger to all of them was a good way to protect his Mate.

Stiles looked off to the side and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, her and her, uh …boyfriend? He looked a little out of it –surprise, surprise- but they were sitting by me at the bar and I overheard them talking about how a Xana near Concord was attacked by a whole Nest about a week ago.” His words were quick as he rambled out the information, wanting to get it over with as fast as possible. “They didn’t kill her but she was pretty badly hurt and really pissed off. She’s been sending out messages to her friends warning them where the Nest was going.”

The Alpha was feeling a headache coming on but just let the man continue with the onslaught of information. “Anyway I think I might have been staring too hard because they noticed me and I sort of freaked out a little and told them that I had family in Beacon Hills so I was interested in all the supernatural stuff and if anything might be coming to try and kill anyone because, you know, its good to be prepared. I think she must have tried to enthrall me but there was no way in hell that was working because I’m no ones sex toy, so I sort of did the flashy purple eye thing at her and about a second later she gave me the Xana’s name and number and told me I had a nice scent. Wow, I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.” The look of complete shock on Derek’s face must have been noticeable because Stiles said, “Don’t give me that look, I used a secure line to call her.” That was so not what Derek had been worried about. Stiles finished up quickly, visibly relieved that he’d gotten it all out in the open. “Lilliana, that’s the Xana’s name, told me the Nest is about 14 to 18 strong, from an old line, and one of the last things she heard them talking about before she blacked out was how they were heading to Beacon Hills.”

Surprise impending threat aside Derek wanted to know how Stiles managed to get that information. Did this have something to do with being a Druid? A Spark? A strange amalgamation of the two that even Deaton found interesting? Did that mean that Stiles was able to resist other Fae’s magic like Lydia? Did he just bat his big amber –or purple- eyes at someone and they gave him their social security number and the names of their ten closest friends and family? Was he taking lessons from Scott and Isaac? And damn it all if this wasn’t the good information that Lydia, Allison, and Danny had all insisted would come out of the job before they collapsed upstairs. Derek felt a little put out. 

“Good intel, right?” Stiles asked a hopefully. 

Derek stood up from the chair and beckoned Stiles forward with a stiff finger. The human obeyed, lips pressed together as he stopped about two feet from the other man and waited for Derek to speak. Derek only sighed and a wave of relief washed of Stiles who knew that sigh meant the alpha was giving in. “As much as I want to tell you that you can’t work there –and I _really_ want to tell you that- I’m not going to stop you.”

Stiles beamed and clapped his hands together amber eyes lighting up happily. “I swear I’ll be all James Bond about it. I’ll be totally careful.”

Derek grabbed Stiles hand suddenly, holding it so he could see the long thin cut that ran from thumb to the base of his pointer finger across his palm. “Stiles, what the hell is this?” He couldn't even smell the blood, not until he touched the man. He'd _always_ been able to smell if Stiles was hurt. "Did you... did you _hide_ this from me?" Christ, what else could this magic of Stiles' do?!

The elated smile on Stiles face dropped quickly and he sighed, easing his hand from Derek’s. “It's nothing; it just... got a little rough before I left. It was harmless.”

Derek’s eyes flared. “Stiles! You can’t tell me it’s _safe_ when you’re getting hurt on your first fucking time going there-!”

“Derek! Derek, chill!” Stiles interrupted, voice high with a small laugh as he grabbed the angry Alpha by his shoulders. “Calm down, I was kidding! I cut myself slicing up some fruit, okay. Nothing happened!” 

Derek hadn’t heard a hitch in his Mates heartbeat either time and he growled, fists clenching at his sides. “Christ Stiles, yeah, real good idea to joke around with me right now.” He was never going to get used to Stiles being able to mask his heartbeat, mask his _scent_. It was too unfair of an advantage considering Stiles habit for bending the truth.

Remorse made the younger mans shoulder slump a little and he loosened his hold on Derek's arms slightly, rubbing them comfortingly. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…you know I have no filter. But seriously Derek, I’m fine.”

“I know!” Derek growled, then repeated more softly, “I know. I just…. What if something comes in that you aren’t prepared to handle. What if the Pack can't get to you right away?” Was this ever not going to be a worry for him? He didn’t want Stiles to up and leave again if he got the idea in his head that he needed more training. Derek -hell, the _Pack_ -, couldn’t do another 11 months without their Emissary especially now that Beacon Hills reputation had snowballed so much in the supernatural community. 

Stiles slipped a finger under the man’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “Listen and look at me -hey, look at me Derek,” he commanded sternly. “I’ll watch and listen, and I’ll deal with any problems as they come up. Besides, Carla is wicked good backup. She’d rather kill me herself than let someone else do it.” Derek let out an exasperated sigh through his nose but could already feel the knot in his chest loosening as Stiles kept rubbing at his arms. “This is going to be a good thing,” Stiles insisted, pressing a chaste kiss to the older mans jaw. “You, dad, and Ethan can look into the Nest thing tomorrow, okay? We got this.”

“It _is_ tomorrow,” Derek muttered as Stiles slipped his arms around his waist, trying to placate him further. The clock on the wall read 5:30am. 

Stiles looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Well, I just worked a grueling 4-ish hour shift,” he said, one eyebrow raised as he looked into Derek’s eyes. “So why am I not in bed with my super awesome and understanding boyfriend?” Derek grumbled slightly but couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He could put the Onyx, Carla, Vampires, and horny Huldra aside for now. These were things he could deal with in the morning. Right now he had three pack mates sleeping off their drunkenness upstairs and a slightly tipsy Mate to take to bed. A Mate who was currently letting is long fingers run up his arms, over his shoulders, and scratched at the nape of his neck. Priorities. Derek had them. 

“Put up the wards,” Derek let out in a small rumble.

Stiles cast a coy gaze at the other man. “Why, you think you’re gonna howl?” he teased even as a few tattoos on his hand lit up and a silence fell over the house. 

“No,” Derek replied, hand snaking around the younger mans narrow waist as he pressed his lips to the spot where his jaw met his neck, fangs barely brushing the tender skin. “You are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end if Part ONE!!! yaaaaaaaay!!!!!!
> 
> coming up next; more fighting, more bamfitude, and more fighting. Did I mention fighting? And Vampires.


End file.
